


Ophidian

by TanninTele (orphan_account)



Series: Amalgamation [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Abused Harry, Basilisk(s), Chamber of Secrets, Dumbledore Bashing, Dyslexia, Father figure Severus Snape, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Good Slytherins, Heritage Research, Hogwarts Second Year, Mentions of child neglect, Misguided Dumbledore, Other, Out of Character Draco Malfoy, Parseltongue, Possession, Possessive Behavior, Protectiveness, Severitus, Slytherin Harry Potter, Tom Riddle's Diary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:17:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TanninTele
Summary: To Harry, being a wizard was the one thing that made life worth living for. He missed Hogwarts so much it physically hurt. The one thing he hadn't missed about Hogwarts, however, was the near-death experiences; those, Harry could've done without. To be honest, Harry was just happy he'd made it to age twelve without loosing any limbs, although he'd certainly come close a few times with the troll, Hagrid's pet Cerberus, Fluffy, and his deranged ex-professor going after him like Harry was a particularly tasty morsel. Little does Harry know that his second year won't be peaceful in the slightest; With sudden attacks and fresh torments making Harry question his heritage, a narcissistic Defense teacher wrecking havoc and a hidden threat encouraging a hapless innocent to commit atrocious acts right beneath Dumbledore's crooked nose, the (oblivious) son of Zeus has never felt so powerless.





	1. Ophidian: One

 

** **

 

**Ophidian**

_(adj. relating to or denoting snakes.) **  
**_

**A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover ** **  
**

**Part 5 of the _Amalgamation Series_**

by _Tannin & Tele_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters._

. . .

 ** _Warnings:_ ** _Chapter includes child abuse, child neglect and graphic descriptions of violence._

_The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's._

_**Author's Note:** Please enjoy this next installment in the Amalgamation Series! I want to thank all my faithful supporters thus far, and I hope that you'll continue reading and commenting as the story evolves. _

_For this chapter, however, there is a scene describing graphic child abuse at the very end of the chapter. If such violence disturbs or triggers you, feel free to skip over any scenes following the dropped pudding. While I certainly don't condone child abuse, this scene is pertinent to the plot, and I hope I don't trigger too many people._

* * *

**Chapter One**

. . .

**July 31st, 1992**

**_Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, England_ **

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon had, once again, been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from Harry’s room. At the time, Vernon had merely rolled over, grumbling, while Harry peeked nervously out of his little tent of blankets to shush the white-feathered owl. 

Harry rarely got enough sleep as it was, he certainly didn't need Vernon crashing into his room to smack him around. 

“Third time this week!” Vernon roared across the table, hands shaking as he brandished a fork threateningly. “If you can’t control that owl, it’ll have to go!”

Harry tried in vain to explain. “Please, Uncle,” he pleaded. “She’s not used to be locked up. If I could just let her out at night —”

“Do I _look_ stupid?” Vernon snapped out, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache rather defeating his message. “I know what’ll happen if that owl’s let out.”

He exchanged dark looks with Petunia, whose face was pinched with consternation. 

Harry bit his lip, wanting to vouch for his beloved pet. However, a loud belch from the Dursleys’ son, Dudley, effectively distracted the two adults.  “I want more bacon,” the portly boy demanded, licking the grease from his fingers. 

“There’s more in the frying pan, sweetums - boy, pass over the pan.” Petunia told Harry sternly before turning misty eyes on her massive son. “We must build you up while we’ve got the chance; I don’t like the sound of that school food!”

“Nonsense, Petunia! I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings,” Vernon ensured heartily. “Dudley gets enough, don’t you, son?”

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry, who subtly slipped a slice of bacon into his napkin. 

"Mum!" Dudley gasped, pointing a sausage-sized finger. "Freak's stealing food!"  

Harry flinched at the wretched childhood nickname, berating himself fiercely for his lack of discretion.  _Hogwarts has made me lax,_ he thought bitterly. 

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Vernon pulled out of his chair, a thick vein throbbing in his temple. “After all we have done for you, you ungrateful,  _wretched_ snot!” thundered his uncle, spraying spit over the table. "Stealing food off our tables, practically taking the clothes off Dudley's back - "

Harry, eyes wide, quickly replaced the piece of bacon, lifting his hands placatingly. "All right, all right, I'm sorry!" 

While Petunia glowered at her nephew, Vernon reluctantly sat back down, smoothing back his wisps of graying hair. Dudley was looking smug, stuffing eggs into his greasy gob. Just as Vernon was about to speak, a sharp  _caw_ came from upstairs, where Harry had foolishly left the door open. 

Harry flinched again as his Uncle rose to his feet, but Petunia, thankfully, came to Harry's rescue. 

"I daresay we've had enough drama this morning," Aunt Petunia sniffed, waving at Vernon to sit down. "Boy, get to your cupb - " Petunia faltered. "Room. Go to your room, and shut that owl up. But in half an hour, I want you on your hands and knees in the garden -  _or else._ Understand?" she leveled Harry with a sharp look.

Harry nodded swiftly and bolted away. Stepping into the hall, out of his relative's line of sight, Harry leaned against the wall in stark relief.

“Now, as we all know, today is a very important day," he heard Vernon speaking, tone immensely smoother. “This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career,” Vernon said proudly, and Harry rolled his eyes, pushing off the wall.

As he passed his old Cupboard, Harry ached for his school trunk and textbooks which were tightly locked within. 

All Harry’s spell-books, his wand, robes, cauldron and his Invisibility Cloak had been locked in a cupboard under the stairs by his Uncle Vernon, not moments Harry had come home. What did the Dursleys care if Harry struggled with his dyslexia when he he got to school, because he wasn't able to practice writing with a quill or reading his strangely-worded textbooks? What was it to the Dursleys if Harry went back to school without any of his homework done?

The Dursleys were what wizards called Muggles - and thank _(the)_ god _(s)_ for that, imagine Petunia or Dudley as a witch and wizard! - but as far as they were concerned, having a wizard in the family was a matter of deepest shame. 

To Harry, however, being a wizard was the one thing that made life worth living for. He missed Hogwarts so much it physically hurt; he missed the castle, with its secret passageways and ghosts, his classes, the mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in his four-poster bed in the dungeon dormitory with Draco and Blaise snoring beside him, visiting the creature-obsessed gamekeeper, Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and - most especially- his friends. 

The one thing he  _hadn't_ missed was the near-death experiences; those, Harry could've done without. To be honest, Harry was just happy he'd made it to age twelve without loosing any limbs, although he'd certainly come close a few times with the troll, Hagrid's pet Cerberus, Fluffy, and his deranged ex-professor going after him like Harry was a particularly tasty morsel. 

However glad he was to have survived another year, the Dursleys clearly didn't find his twelfth birthday it worth mentioning -  never mind the fact Dudley received thirty-some gifts and a trip to the cinema not a month earlier. Of course, Harry's hopes hadn't been high . . . but he would've at least appreciated a letter or two from his first ever friends. 

No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. 

 _Happy birthday to me,_ Harry thought morosely. 

More than anything else at Hogwarts, Harry missed his best friends, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn’t seem to be missing him at all. Not one of them had written to him all summer, even though both Draco and Ron had been adamant in having Harry stay with them. 

Countless times, Harry had been on the point of lock-picking Hedwig's cage and sending her off with a letter, but it wasn’t worth the risk of Vernon finding out. He'd beat Harry until he was bloody, _'and that was a promise!'_

Although Vernon and Petunia had been Harry's greatest fears for the longest time (and the boy knew that Vernon could very well go through with his threat of 'beating the magic out of him' any day), Harry couldn't help but feel numbly unimpressed with their presence.  

At the very end of last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than Lord Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power. Harry had slipped through Voldemort’s clutches for a second time, but it had been a narrow escape - and even now, weeks later, Harry kept waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, and his wide, mad eyes . . . 

Harry halted suddenly, thinking he saw a flash of green eyes peeking at him from outside the front window. Harry blinked and the eyes disappeared, leaving only the slightest puff of breath against the window pane. Jerking out of his reverie as Dudley belched from the dining room, Harry quickly tiptoed up the steps and into his bedroom.

After the first letter's arrival last summer, Vernon had  _ever so graciously_ given his nephew permission to reside in Dudley's toy room.  The Dursleys' house on Privet Drive had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley had kept all his  _crap_.

Nearly everything in his room was broken, from the cracked alarm clock Harry set to awaken him at sunrise in order make breakfast, to the large birdcage that Hedwig was now trapped in. Behind the small bed which was covered with a fleece blanket Harry kipped from the attic, were shelves full of books - the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched. Harry read them constantly, terrified of Professor Snape's expression if Harry fell out of practice. 

It wasn't much, but it was enough. 

Harry crossed the small space, whispering a greeting to his sickly-looking snowy owl.

In his paranoia, Uncle Vernon had even padlocked Harry’s owl, Hedwig, inside her cage to prevent her from carrying messages to anyone in the wizarding world. And Hedwig being unable to hunt, Harry was forced to feed her scraps from his own menial meals. 

"Here, girl," he told her, pulling out a scavenged piece of meat. Harry was just lucky his relatives weren't much observant, as he'd already stolen three small pieces of bacon by the time Dudley had noticed. As Hedwig gratefully nipped at the food, slipped through the bars in her cage, Harry's relative's voices began traveling up the stairs. 

“I think we should run through the schedule one more time,” Uncle Vernon announced imperiously. “We should all be in position at eight o’clock. Petunia, you will be — ?”

“In the lounge,” Petunia said, voice simpering. “Awaiting to welcome them _graciously_ to our home.”

“Good, good. And Dudley?” 

“I’ll be waiting to open the door," Dudley said after a moment, his mouth no doubt full of his third helping. _“May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?”_

“Oh, they’ll just love him!” cried Aunt Petunia rapturously, and Harry smiled, imagining his aunt painfully pinching Dudley's cheeks red. 

"And where will I be?" Harry said under his breath, his smile slipping quickly as he collapsed into the rickety desk chair. "I’ll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I’m not there." After years of practice, Harry was quite good at that. 

Harry placed his head in his hands, defeat shining through his clear green eyes. 

. . .

It was half past seven in the evening when at last, after hours of spreading mulch and pulling weeds, Harry heard Aunt Petunia calling out for him.

“Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!” Harry moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen, running a hand through sweating bangs. Petunia grimaced upon glimpsing his pink-tinged scar, but merely gestured to the two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the counter.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!” she snapped, smoothing down her salmon-pink cocktail dress. As she turned to smooth the adjust the vase of daisies, Harry smirked at the light green stain on her sleeve, likely from the pudding. 

He decided not to mention it.

Harry washed his hands and choked down his pitiful supper, saving the crust for later. The moment he had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his plate.

“Upstairs! _Hurry!"_

As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets. He had only just reached the upstairs landing when the doorbell rang and Uncle Vernon’s furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs. “Remember, boy; _one_ sound -” he shook a beefy finger at him.

Grimacing, Harry crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe and turned to collapse on his bed.

The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it. 

Harry froze in place, staring into the bulging green eyes of the . . . creature. It sat on the edge of the bed, dangling bony limbs with gnarly, long toenails. The creature had large, bat-like ears and a grin fit for a Weasley twin. 

The boy knew instantly that this was what had been watching him through the front window that morning. Thinking quickly, Harry edged towards the part of his room cluttered with broken toys and reached out to grab the broken end of an old baseball bat.

 _“May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?”_ Harry heard from the hall. 

Just before Harry grabbed the bat handle, the creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm and leg-holes . . . goodness, even Dudley's cast-offs were better than that. 

“Um. Hello?” Harry greeted weakly, eyeing the creature up and down.

“Harry Potter!” it exclaimed a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir . . . s -such an honor it is, truly!"

“Th-thank you?” Harry responded dubiously. He dropped the bat and edged along the wall toward his desk chair, wishing that Hedwig was awake. Although, she'd probably screech out and disturb his relatives, so - 

“So - Dobby, did you say?” Harry asked, eyes narrowing. 

“Yes, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf,” Dobby said humbly.

“Oh.” Harry said dumbly. “Um, Dobby? Pardon me - I don’t want to be rude or anything - but, really, this isn’t a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom.”

The elf hung his head, ears drooping like a dog's.

“Not that I’m not pleased to meet you,” Harry revised quickly, “But is there any particular reason you’re here?" _And now of all times?_

“Oh, yes, sir,” Dobby said earnestly, hopping from foot to foot. “Dobby has come to tell you, sir - it is difficult, sir . . . Dobby wonders where to begin. . .”

“Why don't you sit down?” Harry offered, gesturing to the bed. To his horror, the elf burst into tears - and very noisy tears, too. Harry stared at him in horror.

“S-sit down!” the elf wailed. “Never, never _ever_ . . .” Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs falter.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered quickly, “I didn’t mean to offend you - ”

“Offend Dobby! Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard - like . . . like an _equal_ _,_ ” The desperation in his rheumy eyes made Harry pause. Sympathy swelling in his chest, Harry tried to look comforting. 

"You can't have met many decent wizards, then."

At last Dobby managed to control himself, and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration. "Harry Potter is right," the elf whispered, before stiffening. Suddenly, Dobby leapt up started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

“Don’t - what on Earth are you _doing_?” Harry hissed, springing up and pulling Dobby back onto the bed.

Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud screech, her wings beating wildly against the bars of her cage.

"Stop, stop, please," Harry whispered to her, desperately pulling out the bread crust from his pocket. After pressing them through the bars, Hedwig eyed them warily, but quieted down. "Now what was  _that_ about?" he demanded of Dobby. 

“Dobby had to punish himself, sir,” Dobby said, swaying slightly. “Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir,”

“Your family?”

“The wizard family Dobby serves, sir. Dobby is a house-elf; bound to serve one house and one family forever.”

“Do they know you’re here?” Harry asked curiously, thanking  _(the)_ god _(s)_ that Vernon hadn't come pounding up the stairs. Yet. 

Dobby shuddered. “Oh, no, sir, no ! Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir —”

“But won’t they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?” Harry asked weakly, feeling a bit ill.

“Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments. . .”

“But why don’t you leave? E- escape?” As he said it, Harry realized the hypocrisy of that statement, looking around bitterly at his own metaphorical prison. 

“A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free; Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir.”

Harry stared at him. “Merlin," he whispered. "I can't imagine what that would be like serving for an eternity. . ." Harry faltered. "Well, actually, I can. It's one of my worse nightmares, being stuck here forever. But - can't someone help you? I know it won't be much, but can't _I_ do something?" 

Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn’t spoken. Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude.

“Please,” Harry whispered frantically, “Please, Dobby, you need to be quiet. My relatives are Muggles, and they won't appreciate all this noise. If the Dursleys hear anything - if they know you’re here - they'll _kill_ me!”

Ignoring this plea, Dobby sobbed hard. “Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby! Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew. . . ”

Harry, who was feeling distinctly hot in the face, said, “Whatever you’ve heard about my so-called 'greatness' is a load of rubbish. I’m not even top of my year at Hogwarts, I'm a bloody idiot. Draco and Hermione are much - " Harry stopped quickly, because thinking about his friends was painful.

“Dra . . . Young Master Draco?" Dobby said suddenly, his orb-like eyes aglow. "Young Master Draco has told Dobby much about Harry Potter's triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Young Master told me that the valiant, bold Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time, just weeks ago - and that Harry Potter escaped yet again!”

"Draco? _He's_ your master? The Malfoys treat you like  _that?!"_ Harry hissed, standing suddenly with righteous anger.  

Dobby clapped his hands over his mouth and _'eeped'_ in shame. 

"Dobby should've have told Harry Potter of his Masters!" Dobby wailed. "No, no, Harry Potter must not think badly of Young Master Draco. Young Master is a good boy, Dobby has raised Young Master since he was just a wee bairn! Dobby knows that Harry Potter has braved many dangers, with his good friend Draco at his side! Draco is a strong, smart boy! A good wizard!" Dobby reminded him, and Harry slowly sat down, shame pooling in his stomach.  

"But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him - even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later. Harry Potter _must not_ go back to Hogwarts.”

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon’s voice.

“W-what?” Harry stammered, startled out of his shock. “But I’ve got to go back! You don't understand what it's _like_ here! Well, maybe you have an idea, but knowing that term starts on September first is all that keeps me going."

“No, no, no,” squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. “Harry Potter must stay where he is safe."

"But I . . . I'm not safe _here!_ " he cried out, frantically tearing at his shirt. "Look, look, please - I get punished for being different, too, and I'm  _afraid,_ Dobby! I can't stay here!" 

Dobby stared wide-eyed at the whip marks on Harry's back, the blood dried and scaly while scars of past beatings standing out against deathly pale skin and protruding ribs. "Harry Potter - is being hurt? By Muggles?" the elf faltered, voice weak. "No, no, he is too great, too good, to lose! But if Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger - ”

“Mortal danger?" Harry croaked out, replacing his shirt with shaking hands. He'd thought Dobby would understand, that Dobby would - well. Harry didn't know what the elf could do for him, when Dobby couldn't even help himself. "Been there, done that - but what's happening this year?" 

“There is a plot, Harry Potter," Dobby said seriously. "A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year. Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!” 

"I . . . wait, this hasn't got anything to do with Voldemort, does it?" 

Dobby squeaked, covering his ears. Harry bit his lip. 

"Sorry. Can you just nod or shake your head if you know?" 

Slowly, Dobby shook his head. “Not . . .  not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir -” But Dobby’s eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give Harry a hint.

Harry, however, was completely lost. "An agent of him, then?” Dobby tilted his head indecisively, and Harry puffed out a frustrated breath. 

“Well then, I can’t think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts,” Harry threw his hands in the air. “Is it another plot of Dumbledore? You know who Dumbledore is, don’t you?” Dobby bowed his head.

“Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir." Harry scoffed quietly. "Dobby has heard Dumbledore’s powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, sir,” Dobby’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper. “There are powers even Dumbledore doesn’t . . . powers no d -decent wizard . . .”

And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry’s desk lamp, and started beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps.

A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later Harry, heart thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling, “Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!”

Scrambling to his feet, Harry grabbed Dobby as gently as he could and pushed him into the closet. The boy flung himself towards Dudley's broken toys and slammed one - some sort of game system - against the ground so it broke in several peaces. It let out a few weak tones, just as Vernon flung open the door. 

“What the _devil_ are you doing?” Uncle Vernon forced out through gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry’s. “You’ve just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke!"

Harry gestured toward the shattered toy. "Sorry, one of the old toys went off. Must be faulty," he whispered, keeping his gaze steady. 

Vernon's mustache quivered as he debated whether to believe him or not. "Fine," the man spat, stomping toward the door. "But one more sound and you’ll wish you’d never been born, boy!” 

After waiting a few moments, Harry let Dobby out of the closet. "And he'll go through with his threats, too - just for making a noise!" Harry informed the creature. “See why I’ve got to go back to Hogwarts? It’s the only place I can be happy. No authoritarians bent on beating me bloody, three full meals a day, friends that actually  _like_ me . . .  well, I think I’ve got friends.”

“Friends who don’t even write to Harry Potter?” Dobby said slyly, twisting his hands.

Harry's brows furrowed in suspicion. “How do you know my friends haven’t been writing to me?”

Dobby shuffled his feet. “Harry Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best . . . ”

“Have you been stopping my letters?” Harry breathed, tears of disbelief flooding his eyes. _They wrote to him. They_ remembered _him!_

“Dobby has them here, sir,” the elf said. Stepping nimbly out of Harry’s reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione’s neat writing, Ron’s untidy scrawl and a silver wax seal imprinted with a sharp _'M'._

Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry. “Dobby had to beat himself severely for stealing from Young Master, but Dobby hoped that if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him, Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir. ” 

Harry breathed in tightly, hands quivering at his sides. "Give me my letters," he said lowly, dangerously.

“Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Worse than the mean, red-faced Muggles, even! Say you won’t go back, sir!”

Seeing Dobby inch towards the door, Harry spoke desperately. "Yes, yes, alright! Just give me the letters, Dobby, and I'll stay . . . _safe,"_

Growing up in a house of Slytherins, Dobby was quite accustomed to wizards trying to weasel out of agreements. Young Master did it often enough when it was supposed to be bath time. Dobby's expression was solemn as he spoke. "Dobby wants to trust Harry Potter, but Dobby must take assurances." 

Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs. Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. He jumped the last six steps, landing catlike on the hall carpet. 

From the dining room he heard Uncle Vernon saying, “ - tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She’s been dying to hear it.”

Harry slid into the kitchen and felt his stomach disappear. Aunt Petunia’s masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

“No,” croaked Harry. “Please, Dobby . . . they’ll _murder_ me.”

“Harry Potter must _promise_  he will not go back to school!”

Harry couldn't think past the fear overriding his preservation tendencies. “Dobby, please . . .”

“Say it, sir.”

“I -" the boy faltered, and Dobby gave him a tragic look.

“Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter’s own good.”

The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. Harry jerked back as shards of china pierced into his leg, a bloody gash dripping crimson onto the marred white floor tile. 

With a crack like a whip, Dobby vanished, eyes displaying deep regret but not a sign of remorse. 

There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head to foot in Aunt Petunia’s pudding. At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the whole thing over.

“Just our nephew — very disturbed — meeting strangers upsets him, so we kept him upstairs. . .”

He shooed the shocked Masons back into the dining room, promised Harry he would flay him to within an inch of his life when the Masons had left, and handed him a mop. Aunt Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry, still shaking, started scrubbing the kitchen clean. He didn't bother trying to explain the mistake away, he knew that neither his aunt or uncle would listen.  

Meanwhile, in the living room, Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal - if it hadn’t been for the owl.

. . . 

Mrs. Mason's screams still ringing in Harry's ears, the boy clutched the warning letter in his hands, green eyes suspiciously wet. 

Vernon was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth bared. “Well, I’ve got news for you, boy, I’m locking you up! You’re never going back to that school, never! And if you try and magic yourself out — they’ll expel you!” 

 _Looks like Dobby got what he wished,_ Harry thought to himself bitterly as Vernon dragged him up the stairs.

Tossing his nephew onto the ground, Vernon spat at him, eyes wild. "I think it's about time for another lesson, Freak," he declared, walking Harry into a corner. 

An incoming fist caused Harry to duck desperately. Vernon sneered at the boy's aversion tactics, grabbing Harry by the shoulder and shoving him down. "I've had about enough of you," the man seethed, a vein pulsing on his forehead. "Let's see your precious  _magic_ protect you from this!" 

Harry gasped as pain exploded in his cheek, his head banging against the wall as Vernon came at him. "Oh, that's right," Vernon mocked, slamming his foot into Harry's side. "Unless you want to be expelled, it  _can't_ protect you!" 

Several minutes later, the beating came to a peak as Harry writhed on his stomach, blood soaking into his thin t-shirt. His anger tapering down, Vernon got one last kick in, pressing his foot into Harry's back.  _Hard._

A sickening crack resounded through the room, followed quickly by an ear-splitting scream that Harry could not contain. Mercifully, Vernon paused in his assault, glancing down at his suddenly motionless nephew. The boy was alive, clear by the soft panting breaths and imperceptible whimpers, but he held himself completely still. Harry sobbed silently, quiet gasps slipping past pale lips, blood-stained lips.

"Please, no more, " Harry croaked, eyes fluttering shut as he waited for the inevitable. His uncle  _never_ showed Harry mercy. 

But, amazingly, no other blows came. 

"Please. My back - " he cut off, biting his tongue as Vernon removed his foot, his spine twinging painfully. "I think you - I think it might be cracked," he whispered. "I could become p - paralyzed." 

Vernon was staring down at his own hands, stained with the blood of a now-twelve-year old. The slip of a boy was lying listlessly on the ground, shards of dishware still embedded into his bruised and battered skin. Sweaty black hair was splayed like a halo, the boy's eyes peeking up through limp fringe. His vibrant green stare becoming glazed with diminishing lucidity, Harry watched as his Uncle slowly backed out of the room, face red and chins wobbling. 

The man opened his mouth, saliva dripping from his lips, but no parting words came. Vernon shakily shut the door behind him, leaving a blood hand-print on the bronze knob. Harry let out a breath of relief, his lungs burning, and Hedwig hooted concernedly as her master finally slipped into blessed darkness. 

Oddly enough, from the other side of the door, Vernon couldn't even muster the will to threaten her. 

"Freak deserved it," the man told himself, fists clenching. A drop of blood slipped down to stain his shiny black shoes, and the man breathed out heavily.

"Petunia!" he bellowed out. "Get me something to drink. Something strong."  

* * *

**_To be continued . . ._ **


	2. Ophidian: Two

**Ophidian**

_(adj. relating to or denoting snakes.) **  
**_

**A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover ** **  
**

**Part 5 of the _Amalgamation Series_**

by _Tannin & Tele_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters._

. . .

 ** _Warnings:_  ** _Chapter includes child abuse, child neglect, mentions of medical operations and mild language._

_The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's._

 

* * *

**Chapter Two**

. . .

**August 1st, 1992**

**_Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, England_ **

Harry awoke later the next morning. His eyes crusty, Harry tried to move his arm but was immediately met with soreness and a sharp pain in his back. Lifting his head slightly, he was quick to realize that the tacky, iron-scented liquid plastered to his cheek was, in fact, blood. And quite a lot of it, too.

Feeling queasy, Harry was rather glad that he couldn't remember much about the night before. Whatever he'd done to deserve this, Harry wasn't sure, but the deed was done.

As he tried to pull himself up, Hedwig hooted warningly.

His amber-eyed bird looked ruffled and fatigued, as if she'd had a sleepless night - which she had.  

Pain searing up his spine, Harry agreed that staying still was perhaps for the best. The boy blinked the dried tears from his eyes, lifting his head to see iron bars in front of his window. Harry gaped in astonishment, wondering how Vernon had managed  _that_ in less than a morning. Outside the bars, the sky was dark with storm clouds, leaving Harry to wonder the exact time. His alarm clock was beeping softly in the background, and Harry craned his neck to see that it was nearly noon. 

"Am I in hell, Hedwig?" Harry coughed out, pressing the side of his head to the floor. Feeling rather helpless, he blinked away a fresh round of tears. 

The bird shuffled from foot to foot, looking a bit relieved that he was coherent enough to speak. She cawed softly, knocking her wing against the padlocks on her cage. Glancing towards his bedroom door, Harry noticed several other additions to the room. 

"Fantastic," he moaned. "Bloody fantastic." 

Spying his overturned table lamp on the ground, Harry sucked in a breath, remembering. 

"That damned house-elf," he hissed beneath his breath. "When I get my hands on that Dobby fellow -" 

A loud  _crack,_ much like a thunder clap, sounded through the room, startling both Harry and his pet.

The small elf gaped at them in surprise, a feather duster falling from his hands. Hedwig screeched out in anger as Dobby surged toward the boy collapsed on the floor. "Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squeaked, his bandaged hands shaking over the boy's distressingly slim body.

"Harry Potter called for Dobby? Dobby thought Harry Potter might've changed his mind about Hogwarts, but . . . but . . . what happened to Harry Potter?" 

The Boy-Who-Lived glowered as best as he could at the elf, but failed spectacularly as fatigue spread over him. "My Uncle's what happened," Harry said softly. "I told you he'd try to kill me, Dobby." 

The creature trembled with concern, bulging eyes becoming watery. "Dobby didn't know! Dobby thought Harry Potter would be  _safe!_ That the Muggles wouldn't  _dare_ hurt the. . . the g -great Harry P - Potter!" he sobbed, burying his head in his hands.  

Harry winced as rumbling came from outside his room, likely his relatives debating whether or not to check on him. "Hush, Dobby," Harry forced out. "You needn't feel bad, they've been doing this since I was young. Although I think . . . I think I've been hurt bad this time. My magic has healed the worst of the bruises, but my back - Merlin, it hurts so bad," he gasped out, pressing his forehead into the red-stained flooring. 

Dobby gasped. "Dobby . . . Dobby can help, he thinks," the elf hedged. "Dobby doesn't wish to aggravate the wound, but he might take Harry Potter away to somewhere safe, if it is serious - " 

"Oh god _(s)_ , yes, please!" Harry pleaded. "I don't care where, just  _please,_ help me." 

Seeming to be thinking hard, Dobby nodded in determination after a moment. "Yes. Dobby will help rescue Harry Potter," the elf seemed oddly smug at this sentence. "Dobby can bring Harry Potter to a wizard hospital. Perhaps, if it is bad enough, they might not let Harry Potter back to Hogwarts - " 

Harry rolled his eyes at this, although he was secretly relieved that the elf was willing to steal him away from the Dursleys. 

"My trunk and things are in my -  _the_ cupboard under the stairs. The doors are locked, though . . . " 

"Dobby can get past them," he said easily.

. . .

Screams could be heard as Dobby popped downstairs and retrieved Harry's trunk from the cupboard. Petunia startled at his sudden appearance, leaning back against the living room's door frame with a hand on her heart. 

"Vernon! Vernon!" She shrieked as Dobby peered at the horse-like woman, his bulging eyes narrowing dangerously. 

"Petunia!" Vernon called out, romping into the hallway with an upraised fire poker. Dobby clapped his hands, and the weapon flew from his hands. Vernon shouted as he began floating up to the ceiling, obscenities falling from his mouth. 

"You'se be a  _bad_ Muggle!" Dobby informed him in a high-pitched voice. "And you shall not harm Harry Potter any longer!" 

Snapping his fingers, Harry's trunk jolted up to float weightlessly behind him. The woman squeaked in fear, and the elf disappeared upstairs once more. 

. . .

With Petunia's wailing downstairs as a lovely soundtrack, Dobby banished the locks on Hedwig's cage and the bars on Harry's window, allowing the bird to swoop out with a happy screech. Harry wondered aloud if he was to get in trouble for this magic, too, but Dobby was quick to reassure him.

"Elf magic is different than wizard magic. Dobby  _intended_ to get Harry Potter in trouble for dropping the pudding," he said sheepishly. "But Dobby can get Harry Potter away secretly. Is Harry Potter ready?" 

"Yes," Harry whispered, closing his eyes tightly. "I'm ready." 

Dobby reached for Harry's hand, which was splayed awkwardly on the carpet, and grasped it firmly. 

With a a noise that pierced Harry's eardrums, the smallest bedroom disappeared in a swirl of light and color. Stomach lurching and body screaming in protest, Harry once again fell into the darkness, Dobby's small hand gripping tightly to his. 

. . . 

**_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, England_ **

They landed in the middle of a bustling reception room, a thin woman behind a desk labeled  _Inquiries_ scribbling on a parchment. Closest to them, a dark-skinned man with no ears and a woman with oozing blue pustules were waiting patiently in heavily stuffed chairs, sharing a magazine labeled  _Quidditch Weekly._

Dobby was startled at first. He hadn't intended to bring Harry to a wizarding hospital, although the boy certainly needed the medical attention.  _What if the Malfoys discover Dobby is here?_ the elf wondered in horror. A groan came from his unconscious charge, jerking Dobby into attention. 

"Madam?" Dobby called out tentatively, maneuvering Harry's body forward. The Boy-Who-Lived body floated idly beside the desk, his dark hair hanging limply in the air. 

Peering over silver eyeglasses, the woman crinkled her nose at Harry's bloodstained hand-me-downs. "Creature, artifact, curse or potion?" she drawled out, sounding anything but personable as she shifted through a pile of colorful files. 

"Erm," Dobby pandered, unused to taking such initiative. The blonde witch stared at him, eyebrow arching impatiently. "Muggle," he finally answered. 

She blinked, looking at the battered body slowly floating toward the blue-colored ceiling. "Ah," she said finally. "Sixth Floor, I'd say. If you would wait a moment, I can call someone down to bring him up." Flicking her short, brown-stained wand, a silver porcupine Patronus hobbled away, chittering softly.

"Name?" the witch asked, dipping a quill into ink.

"Harry Potter," Dobby said proudly, puffing his chest as everyone's head shot up. Harry whimpered in his sleep and the child attempted to roll around midair. 

Standing quickly, the receptionist conjured a cot beneath the boy. As Harry landed, his black fringe was swept aside, revealing his iconic lightning-bolt scar. "Oh goodness," one of the waiting patients whispered, grabbing onto the armrests. 

"Wait 'til I tell Earl!" the welted woman said excitedly, tongue darting out to lick at an oozing pustule at the corner of her mouth.

The receptionist, looking quite pale, gestured a Healer forward as he bustled into the room. "We've a problem, Healer Smith. Better get him up to the Sixth Floor quickly." Healer Smith took one look at the fluttering green eyes and the pain on the boy's thin face and immediately stole the Boy-Who-Lived up to the operation room.

Dobby followed nervously, struggling to keep up with the quick-paced Healer. 

The elf looked around in amazement as they passed room after room of ailing wizards and witches, one with an ax embedded in their shoulder and another with a pixie stuck up their nose. As they passed the Second Floor for Magical Bugs and Diseases, Dobby squeaked in surprise.

Sparing the boy hero one last desperate look, Dobby disappeared, just as a pair of silver eyes lifted to watch them pass. 

Eyes narrowed, Lucius Malfoy waved dismissively at the Healer hovering beside him, incessantly requesting that he sign the forms for his father's assisted suicide.

Abraxas Malfoy had been on hospice for a near three years, suffering with an incurable case of the dragon pox.  The man wasn't a kind person and he'd made many bad choices in life, but he  _was_  family, and Lucius would stop at nothing to maintain the man's well-being. If Abraxas would suffer less in death, so be it. 

Death didn't scare him much anymore.  

Brushing away a lock of white-blonde hair, Lucius watched as the half-blood Healer and the black-haired boy rushed past, faintly recalled the child's round features from somewhere. It took him a few moments before he realized where he recognized the boy from. 

This was Draco's friend, the son of that Mudblood girl and Lucius' distant cousin.

This was the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry - 

"Potter," Lucius hissed out, mind racing. 

"Give father my regards," the Malfoy scion told his father's Healer, her brown eyes widening as he signed the papers with a flourish. "Withhold acting until Monday, at least. I will be back tomorrow with my wife and heir to say our goodbyes." With that final declaration, the man turned away in a flash of dark green robes, the silver head of his cane gleaming as he stalked away. 

He had a Potions Master to contact. 

After all, Severus Snape  _was_ the expert on everything James and Lily Evans-Potter; 

And hopefully, by extension, their son. 

. . .

"None of these spells are working!" Healer Daniel Smith spat out, banishing another puddle of blood from their operating table. "The bone isn't molding as it should, so he'll need a night of Skele-Grow. MacDougal, what's his pulse like?" A woman with chocolate brown hair tucked into a severe bun pressed her finger's to Harry's neck.

"Heart rate is about 150 per minute," she informed grimly. "I've a feeling we'll need more sedatives. Any sign of oncoming paralysis?" 

"No, thank Merlin. Lucky thing his own magic's fighting to protect his spinal cord, otherwise - " Daniel grimaced, stitching up the boy's back. None of them wanted to think of the 'otherwise'. Just then, the door burst open, revealing a pair of twins, Healers Althea and Alfred Eclipsim.

The elder, Alfred, handed his superior a vile of Blood Replenishing Potion. 

"Sir, we've run the blood tests," Althea told him, pulling a scroll from her apron. "He hasn't any close wizarding relations, only Muggles."

Everyone grimaced again. "I can't believe that a Muggle did  _this,"_  Melina MacDougal murmured, shaking her head. 

"It's astonishing the damage one can do with their bare hands," Daniel agreed, eyeing the prognosis up and down. "Wait," he frowned. "How can he have no close relations? The boy's a Potter, isn't he? I know of at least three pureblood families related to James - you know how those purebloods love their inbreeding." 

Melina averted her eyes sheepishly, thinking of the betrothal contract between herself and her third cousin. 

"It's strange, I agree, sir," Althea nodded. "And we've noticed a - ah, discrepancy to the blood tests. We know for certain his mum's a muggle-born, but his father is, apparently someone of . . . creature blood." The girl exchanged a look with her brother. 

Daniel looked astonished. "The boy's a half breed? What sort of creature is he?"

Alfred shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "Unknown, sir. He's not Muggle or fully wizard, that's all we can tell you." 

The Head Healer seemed thoughtful as he spelled the Blood Replenishing Potion into Harry's stomach. "Interesting. Very interesting, but - " he gave his assistants a sharp look. " - you must remember the patient confidentiality oath. None of this information goes past these four walls, understood?" 

Melina, Alfred and Althea all nodded and Daniel sighed. 

"Melina, come with me. We've got a young girl in Room 613 who got on the wrong side of a Muggle lawnmower. You two clean up in here, make sure he gets a dose of Dreamless Sleep and Skele-Grow."

"Yessir," the twins echoed. 

As Daniel and Melina left, Alfred and Althea immediately set to work. Alfred flipped Harry onto his side, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly.

"How are you sure that he's a demigod?" Althea whispered to her brother. Alfred brushed away a stray lock of golden-blond hair, his blue eyes grim.

"I had a premonition that a boy with father's mark would be in desperate need of our expertise. Usually I'd leave it to the Fates, but the boy's blood test confirms that we're family. And, don't tell anyone, but he'll actually be quite important," he confided. "There's a prophecy about him, claiming that he'll defeat that awful immortal snake-man."

Althea paused. "The serpent-speaker?" she snarled. "He stole a treasured artifact from one of my sacred forests in Albania, and haunted it for years as a nasty wraith! I tried to send one of my Huntresses after him, but . . . she never came back. And this boy will truly kill him?" 

"Yes," Alfred said grimly. "So, unless you want the entire wizarding world to be _annihilated_ , we'll need Harry to live for another . . . oh, five or six years. Now, I think that half a square of ambrosia will do for now, sister."  

Althea pulled out a piece of caramel-like food from her pocket, breaking it into two pieces. "But if you're wrong about Harry, he'll burn up!" she reminded him, brows furrowed in concern. "You know how mortals react to our delicacies." 

Alfred knocked into his sister's shoulder, glaring. "Then let's hope to Zeus that I'm  _right,_ alright? Stop being so pessimistic," he said and pressed the ambrosia between Harry's parted lips. Massaging his throat, the soft food was easily swallowed.

Within minutes the boy's skin began to flush with better health. 

Checking his heart rate, Alfred smiled triumphantly. "He's stabilizing," he said. "Look - some of his scars are fading, and I have a feeling we won't need any Skele-Grow tonight. Good thing, too - that potion's  _nasty._ " 

Althea crossed her arms, trying not to show her relief. "So he _is_ a demigod. Should we tell him?" she asked, receiving a shrug in return. 

"I'm sure he'll find out eventually." 

"I still think that was risky," Althea told her brother, flicking a hand to help clean the room. "He could've died, and father would've had a conniption." 

"Oh, stop," Alfred whinged, shedding his scrubs. "You're acting like a bloody Hufflepuff!"  

Althea was unimpressed. "We're not wizards, brother; and we're not 'bloody'  _British_ , either." 

"Fine! Then, you're acting like . . . like . . . " Althea was laughing at him, and Alfred stomped his foot in frustration. "By the gods, just shut it, Artemis!"

The Goddess of the Moon smirked the God of the Sun, sweeping her midnight-dark braid over her shoulder. "You have many powers, Apollo, but shutting me up isn't one of them. Come on, let's hurry and move the boy into a better room. I can't leave my Huntresses alone too long, we've had a few  _instances_ with arrows that I'd rather not mention." 

Apollo laughed quietly. "I do believe I've a poem for that," he cleared his throat. 

 _'"Oh, watch out',_  you shout

For in their mischief, arrows fly far and wide

Into arms, into thighs - " 

"Now I wish I had the power to shut  _you_ up," Artemis muttered darkly to herself. 

* * *

**_To be continued . . ._ **

 


	3. Ophidian: Three

**Ophidian**

_(adj. relating to or denoting snakes.) **  
**_

**A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover ** **  
**

**Part 5 of the _Amalgamation Series_**

by _Tannin & Tele_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters._

. . .

 ** _Warnings:_  ** _Chapter includes child abuse, child neglect, mild language, Dumbledore bashing._

_The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's._

 

* * *

**Chapter Three**

. . .

**August 2nd, 1992**

**_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, England_ **

Soft voices filled Harry's hearing and he shifted sleepily underneath warm blankets. "That'll be all, Healer MacDougal - might you leave the assessment, however? We'll need it for the Wizengamot." The boy heard the sound of a curtain opening and blinked blearily as darkness filled his vision.

"'fessor Snape?" Harry croaked out, recognizing the smell of herbs and potions. 

Severus, wearing his customary black cloak, smiled lightly at his student before settling down beside the hospital bed. "Good to see you awake, Mr. Potter," he said cordially, inclining his head. Harry murmured a vague response, rubbing at his eyes. 

"Where am I?" He asked Severus, pulling himself up. Harry was astonished at how good he felt. There was a lingering soreness all over, but compared to the days before, Harry was glad to be moving at all. "This looks like the Hospital Wing," Harry looked around, his vision uncomfortably overwhelmed by white. The pureness of the room compared to the professor's dark presence was quite the disparity.

 "Close," Severus said, lips quirking slightly at Harry's ruffled hair and bewildered eyes.

In the light streaming through the window, Severus could see light tints of copper in the boy's hair, and the man's heart panged painfully in memory. He cleared his throat slightly. "We're at St. Mungo's Hospital for - well, several things, but far to many to list."

Realization flooded through Harry's eyes. "I suppose Mr. Malfoy's informed you of it, then?" Severus added, remembering that Draco grandfather was a permanent resident in the building, and had been for over four years.  

Harry nodded, biting his lip slightly. "N - not to be rude, sir, but what are you doing here?" Severus had to bit back a laugh.

As much of a Slytherin Harry claimed to be, the boy certainly didn't mince his words. Much like a Gryffindor, and quite like Lily, in fact. 

"As your Head of House, Mr. Potter, I have the grand honor of acting _in loco parentis_ to your esteemed person, especially as your blood relatives are . . . inadequate." Severus grimaced lightly. 

Harry stiffened at the mention of his relatives. Noting this reaction, Severus pushed on gently.

"Now, as for how I knew of your location, it turns out that Draco's father - Lucius Malfoy - was here visiting _his_ father, and he contacted me almost immediately upon seeing you being carried along on a gurney. As a member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, Lucius is mandated to report any suspicious activity surrounding a student or teacher of Hogwarts.

"And I do believe that seeing you -  a second year student, and the Boy-Who-Lived to boot - all bloodied up and being carted into surgery with no concerned guardian trailing after, _might_  just seem awfully suspicious to anyone."  _Ex-Death Eater or not,_ Severus internally added. "You might wish to thank mister Malfoy for his quick thinking, otherwise someone  _unfavorable_ might've come and snatched you up."  

The boy cringed slightly, not all that desperate to find out who his dour professor found 'unfavorable'. "Right," Harry said unsurely. 

Severus eyed his student for a long while, expression unreadable, before he pulled out his wand.  _"Accio_ diagnosis," A parchment sailed over towards them, rolled tightly and wrapped in a thin blue cord. Severus pulled the cord away absentmindedly, letting the long paper unroll.

"I'm surprised Poppy didn't insist on a full medical history report while you were in her care," the man murmured to himself. "You're far to small for your age, implying a case of severe neglect at the most. Perhaps then, all of this could have come to light  _without_ your spine being broken in three places."  

" . . . what?" Harry whispered. 

"Typically, a trained medic would have completed a full-body check up on a patient befouled of any severe injury, especially during a prolonged stay in their care. Poppy should have initiated one at the end of the year, but then again, she  _is_ on Dumbledore's payroll." Severus thought aloud as he read through the report, gaze going steadily darker. 

"No, no, I meant - that's my medical history?" the boy swallowed tightly, on the verge of panic. "It's not - " 

"What I think?" Severus finished. "Or what I  _know?_ The proof is right here, Mr. Potter, in the form of a list of injuries you've sustained since birth. No well-cared after child should have broken limbs, second degree burns or scars in the shape of a belt buckle on their back at the age of _six_. I'm certain that this will be enough to convince the Wizengamot of the Dursley's guilt." 

"The Wizengamot?" Harry gasped. "But they're Muggles!" 

"Yes, but no matter their blood, the wizarding world _does not stand for_ the abuse of a child. Merlin knows there are so few of us left; wizarding children should be revered. And as such, invoking my  _in loco parentis,_ I shall be caring for your well-being while the Dursleys," he sneered the name. "Are arrested for severe and longitudinal neglect and abuse of a wizarding child - the fact you're the Boy-Who-Lived only makes the case worse." 

"But Dumbledore said I had to stay with them. He said that I was protected there." 

"Like hell," Severus scoffed, garnering a wide-eyed stare. "Your mother. . . and Potter," he added reluctantly, "Would never have stood for your relative's treatment of you, faux 'protection' or not. Lily and James didn't sacrifice their lives only to have their only son be abandoned on a doorstep a day after, left to be treated like a house elf to a family of abusers - monsters worse than many of the Dark Lord's servants." 

Harry choked on his tears, rushing to quickly wipe his tears away. "'M sorry," he muttered, tears streaming down his face. 

"Don't, Harry," Severus said gently, reaching over to grab his hands. "Don't be sorry. You're not  _there_ anymore. You needn't hide your feelings from me." His parental tone was far too much for the boy. 

The boy broke out in soft cries, his shoulders shaking as he leaned forward desperately into the professor's warm embrace. "I don't have to go back?" Harry asked, voice watery and meek. Severus felt anger flare in his chest, not toward the boy - no, but for his pathetic excuse for a family.

"Never, Harry," the man said fiercely, running his long, calloused fingers through the boy's soft hair. "Not while I'm around to protect you." 

"You promise?" Harry murmured into the man's robes. Severus steeled himself, remembering the last time he made a promise to protect Lily's son. He'd failed for so long to protect Harry. He failed to protect his love's son from the Dursleys', Voldemort, from the Cerberus, from the troll and a thousand other dangers - but he wouldn't fail this time.

"I promise. I'll always protect you, my flower." The man stared down into a a watery pair of emerald eyes, far too similar to those of the woman he loved. " _Always."_

. . .

**_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England_ **

Draco was bouncing on his heels impatiently, earning a sharp look from his mother. "Calm down, Draco," Narcissa Malfoy advised softly as she fixed the small, glass bowl of sparkling green powder on the mantel. "Your father will be home soon to escort us to Saint Mungo's," she reminded. "And I have no doubt you will be on your _best_ behavior while saying your goodbyes to grandfather Abraxas."

Her tone brokered no argument, but Draco couldn't help but respond with slight agitation. 

"But mother, grandfather is an absolute _nightmare._ He _hates_ me - " 

"No 'buts'," Narcissa snapped out. "You are already treading on very thin ice. With the attitude you've been showing us lately, it's clear that Hogwarts has done you no good. You've had more detentions last year than your father and I gained our entire Hogwarts career! Goodness knows the change I've seen in you since school ended," she sniffed. "As such, if you wish to see your  _'friend'_   while he is hospitalized, you _must_  conduct yourself properly during the entirety of our visit. Understood?"

"Fine," Draco grumbled.

Narcissa let out a noise of indignation. "Such rudeness. Perhaps Lucius was right in wanting to send you to Durmstrang." 

"But Durmstrang is so far away, and Uncle Sev isn't there to watch over me," Draco pointed out wisely.

"Clearly, he isn't doing a very good job of it," Narcissa murmured, pinching her nose in exasperation. "What with that Potter boy always getting you into trouble, I bet Severus is tearing his hair out at the roots." 

"For your information, even _Severus_ likes Harry! Just try and give him a chance, won't you?" Draco begged, ignoring his mother's sharp look. "You'll love him, I promise. He's far better in real life than in all those Boy-Who-Lived books _._  Don't you remember?" 

"Of course I remember," she muttered beneath her breath. "You've only got a bookshelf full of them. When you were a babe, you kept asking me to read them to you at nighttime - eventually I just had the elves take care of it."

"Yes, and Dobby quite liked the stories too; I think he hero-worships Harry or something," Draco added unnecessarily.

 _Oh,_ _I'm quite certain Dobby isn't the only hero-worshiper around here,_ Narcissa thought to herself wryly.  _The way Draco goes on about that Potter boy seems a bit obsessive._

Draco looked around in confusion. "You know, I have been wondering - have you sent Dobby off someplace? It feels like I haven't seen him in days." Narcissa blinked at the _non sequitur,_ but before she could respond, the fireplace glowed a bright green.

Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the flames, his dark robes impeccable as always, with only the smallest speckling of ash in his long, flaxen-colored hair. Narcissa flicked her wand helpfully, the ash disappearing with a puff of smoke. 

"Thank you, my love," Lucius said kindly, reaching forward to brush Narcissa's cheek. "This day has been very trying. Unfortunately, it appears that father isn't up for visitors today. He'd rather sulk in quarantine than say goodbye to his last living relatives," the man sneered. "The man is holding a bit of a grudge against me for 'pulling his plug', and informed me that he'd prefer to 'die happy' without our presence involved." 

Narcissa pursed her lips. 

"However, Severus _has_ informed me that young Mr. Potter is awake and in his full mental capacity."

Draco cheered to himself, his parents sparing him a fondly exasperated look. "Are you prepared to visit your friend?" Lucius asked his son, eyeing the large bag grasped tightly in Draco's hands. "I wasn't aware you were bringing your entire playroom with." 

"Of course not," Draco said, scoffing. "I've only brought a few things to entertain Harry with, I can only imagine how bored he must be. I remember when I got the Vanishing sickness," he grimaced lightly. "It was terribly banal being confined to a hospital bed for a week - and no one wanted to play cards with me, thinking that I'd cheat!" 

Narcissa smirked. "Well, knowing you, you would've caused all sort of mischief running about invisible. And, darling, don't play dumb - you _did_  cheat. Hid a few cards up your sleeve, didn't you?" 

As Draco was about to refute in the negative, Lucius grasped his wife's hand. "Not now, Draco," he said in exasperation. "You wish to see your friend, don't you? Yes? Then let us partake in departing, and -  _Pluma Gravis -_ there, no need to drag that bag around like a Muggle. Ready? Speak clearly, now."

 _"St. Mungo's!"_ Draco called out, disappearing into the flames.  

. . . 

**_St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London, England_ **

"I knew those Muggles were no good," Draco flung his arms around Harry's thin shoulders, before plopping down on the mattress beside him. "I'm glad Uncle Severus is bringing them to court."

"Not all Muggles are bad, Draco," Harry said weakly. He'd forgotten how overwhelming the blonde could be, although he would admit to missing the boy dreadfully.

"Of course not _all_ of them are bad," Draco rolled his eyes. "They're just terribly uncouth and barbarian, aren't they?" 

Harry snorted. "I can neither confirm nor deny that statement," he said, clearing his throat. 

"You know I'm right," his friend said jokingly, nudging the boy's shoulder. "Oh, here, I brought you some sweets," Harry's eyes went wide. 

Draco pulled a handful of candy out of his robe pockets, spreading the colorful packages on the crisp, white sheets covering them. He passed over a chocolate frog, knowing Harry enjoyed trying to snatch them up. " Severus probably wouldn't like this," he said, but peeling the candy open anyways. Draco smiled, noticing the sudden familiarity between his godfather and his best friend. "Your parents let you bring all this?," Harry asked, darting out a hand to catch the jumping brown creature.

The blonde stuck a lolly in his cheek, tipping his head. "I don't think they don't really care. I prefer to describe their style of parenting as _laissez faire -_ meaning that so long as I don't do anything to negatively affect my health and our reputation remains intact, they're rather nonchalant about my actions. My parents and Severus are currentlytalking in the hall, looking all terribly concerned about your well being - all for their reputation, of course." 

"Reputation," Harry crinkled his nose. "The Dursleys can tell you all about that. I wasn't normal enough for them, apparently."

Draco grunted. "Normal is underrated. The Dursleys are bastards, you know that? Absolute bastards." 

"I know," Harry said softly, looking down at his lap, where a long-bearded man with twinkling blue eyes smiled up from a chocolate card. How desperately Harry wished to take that beard and wrap it around the ridiculously dressed old coot's wrinkled neck. Harry shifted in the bed, before remembering something. 

"Hey, Draco?" he said suddenly, looking up at the blonde.  "Could you do me a favor?"

The Malfoy scion found himself intrigued, tossing away his lolly stick. "Depends on what it is."  

"I want you to free Dobby - your house elf?"  

Draco looked perplexed. He turned on his side to stare at Harry. "What does Dobby have anything to do with this? How do you even _know_ about him?" 

Harry gave him a wry look. "Oh, I know him quite well, my friend. And believe me - you'd be surprised what that little bugger can do." 

 

. . .

The blonde woman frowned, crossing her arms gracefully. Long, dark blue sleeves trailed against the white tile, the color of her robes bringing out her eyes. "Those Muggles deserve to rot in hell for what they did to that poor boy," she said rather loudly, drawing the attention of a few passerbys. 

Severus and Lucius looked at Narcissa, amused at her sudden support of Harry. Narcissa had been the staunchest believer of the bad influence Harry reaped on her son, although now -  "Oh, I'm glad you're taking him in, Severus," she simpered. "Harry needs a proper parental figure in his life." 

The dark-haired wizard shifted in place, uncomfortable at the change of subject. "Yes, well, if not for Dumbledore's meddling, I'm sure Harry could've gotten help long ago," he said lowly, flicking his wand to enact his Muffiliato charm. "And Dumbledore's machinations are exactly what I need your help with," he said firmly, meeting Lucius' eyes. 

Lucius was intrigued.

"I did some searching," Severus explained. "And it seems that after the Attack at Godric's Hollow, Dumbledore the one to leave Harry with the Dursleys, despite Minerva's fierce warnings. He enlisted a Squib to 'watch over' my boy, informing him of any magical bursts or grand changes in Harry's well-being. Arabella Figg wasn't the smartest of woman, but she was very kind-hearted; I highly doubt she would stand for a child being obviously neglected. Upon a house visit I enacted earlier this afternoon, I found traces of memory charms on her. The poor woman has gone completely batty." He grimaced. 

"Another oddity I've learned was that during primary, when Harry's Muggle teachers began questioning Harry's home life, they would rather suddenly 'disappear'. One year four English teacher, Christopher Luther, for example, was noted to be rather fond of Harry. One day, Luther had been in the middle of calling Child Services on the Dursleys when he dropped dead of mysterious causes." Severus scowled. "Awfully convenient, isn't it? Harry was discreetly expelled from his school after a bit of grief-filled accidental magic, and the boy was left to fend for himself, doing odd jobs around Privet Drive in order to pay for school books.

"Dumbledore has dipped his toes in Harry's finances, as well, leaving the boy ridiculously bereft of galleons. I had hoped James and Lily would've financed their monies better, but apparently over half of their gold went toward the war cause, leaving Harry only enough to get him through Hogwarts. But after Hogwarts - well, I'm just glad Harry knows the meaning of hard work, otherwise he'd be destined for a life on the streets." 

Lucius was astonished. "Centuries worth of old money, wasted on the war? What about the ancient Potter manors, the chests full of treasures and heirlooms? I know for a fact that Narcissa's aunt, Dorea, was quite well off with Charlus Potter. The woman constantly bragged about the grand Potter wealth." 

"I think Draco gets his boasting skills from her," Narcissa added. 

Severus fought an eye roll. "I don't know about the heirlooms, but all that's left is their cottage in Godric's Hollow - and I highly doubt Harry would want to reside there. However," he said thoughtfully, ignoring the thoughts of a decimated home and a cold-skinned beauty.

"I suppose he could sell it, or convert it into a museum in honor of his parents." 

"How maudlin," Lucius sneered. "But I suppose it's his decision."  

"This is true," Severus sighed. "Although I don't have direct access to the Potter vaults - not that I'd wish for it, anyways - as Harry's  _in loco parentis,_ I'm obligated to advise him in both the fiscal and the emotional sense. After all that's happened, he'll need a shoulder to cry on - but at least we won't have to truly worry about his fiances until he is seventeen. I cannot wait," his sarcasm did not go unnoticed. 

Lucius hummed. "Have you considered adoption?" he asked in a low voice. "You'll have more proxy over his affairs, and you'll be able to raise Harry properly. Dumbledore could easily revoke your current guardianship by firing you; through adoption, no one but Harry's will-appointed godfather could be able to refute your word." 

Severus growled at the thought of Sirius Black. "Don't you think I've considered that? The boy certainly deserves a parent. However, I'm more than certain Dumbledore would never dare fire me. If the Dark Lord returns, he'd miss his little spy," the man sneered. "And I can't let Harry go through the stress of having his adoptive father be shunted between the Dark and Light side." 

The two Malfoys sighed in unison, regret in their expressions. "It's truly a choice between two evils, isn't it?" Lucius said softly. "I know that if I was to repent the Dark Lord, I would have no choice but to join Dumbledore. The time for neutrality has passed." 

The Potions Master crossed his arms. " _'We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.'_ " he muttered. "Elie Wiesel, _Night_." 

"Muggle author," Narcissa pursed her lips disapprovingly.

"But the message is accurate. If the Dark Lord returns, we'd have a genocide on our hands," Severus told them solemnly. "Between _him_ and Dumbledore, that dodgy old chess master is the lesser of two evils." 

"You may want to refute that statement," Lucius' silver eyes narrowed, a scowl firmly planted on his sharp features. "Did you hear what Dumbledore did when he heard about Potter's hospitalization and the Dursley's arrest?" 

"What did he do now?" Severus asked, rubbing at his tired eyes. 

"He came out as the Dursley's defense attorney - he wants to save them the pain of Azkaban, instead insisting that they go through a Muggle program for criminals." 

Severus stayed silent for a moment, before breaking out in a sharp, victorious laugh. 

"What are you smiling about?" Lucius arching a brow in curiosity. 

"Well, my father never taught me much good about the Muggle world, but I do remember one thing." Severus smirked.  "Muggle Prison is living hell for child abusers. Perhaps we should be thanking Dumbledore instead of venturing to spite him."

"Oh, but revenge is just so much funner," Narcissa pouted, looking much like her son in a moment of intense mischief. 

Lucius reached over to kiss his wife's hand. "All in due time, my darling. Dumbledore will reap what he's sown, I swear it." 

* * *

 **_To be continued . . ._ **  


	4. Ophidian: Four

**Ophidian**

_(adj. relating to or denoting snakes.) **  
**_

**A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover ** **  
**

**Part 5 of the _Amalgamation Series_**

by _Tannin & Tele_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters._

. . .

 ** _Warnings:_  ** _Chapter includes mentions of child abuse, child neglect and mild language._

_The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's._

 

* * *

**Chapter Four**

. . .

**August 5th, 1992**

**_Spinner's End, Cokeworth, England_ **

Cokeworth was a small Muggle community, adorned with rows and rows of town houses lined together just outside the industry district.

The air smelt of smoke and exhaust, Muggle vehicles constantly backfiring as poorly-dressed men and women went too and from work each day. Cobblestone alleys were relatively well-kept, windows adorned with faded flower boxes and the occasional wind chime.

Around noon, a half dozen scrawny, dirty-mouthed children would gather in the streets kick to speak with thick cockney accents and kick around a dirty white ball. The children weren't very proficient at aiming the ball, as it always violently veered off into the alleyway whenever it came near Number Sixteen on Spinner's End. 

The oddly-dressed, dour-faced man, who'd resided there since before anyone could remember, was a bit of a hermit, his blinds always closed and the house lights off. Whenever the highly bored housewives bothered to invite him to tea, they would suddenly remember they'd left a pie in the oven or another sudden urgency and forget all about him. 

Nobody could seem to remember his name, either; he was simply known as 'the dark man', with the crooked nose and piercing stare. He seldom left the home (through the door, at least) - but when he did, the children all knew to avoid him else they break out in green-tinged boils or worse. 

Days had passed since anyone had seen the man, until his neighbor at Number Fourteen had gone out to fetch the mail. As Mrs. Number Fourteen reached the box, she spotted him disappearing through the front door of Number Sixteen, a small boy trailing behind. She nearly dropped the mail in surprise as a small face with bright green eyes peered out inquisitively from behind the window curtains, before disappearing with a swoop of black. 

Excitement and curiosity churned in her well-endowed bosom. This was the most interesting news to hit Spinner's End since Mr. Number Three left his wife for another man.

The woman gasped slightly, hands lifting to her mouth. _Was the boy Mr. Number Sixteen's sodomite?_   She absolutely _had_ to tell the girls at book club.   

. . .

Harry and Severus had Apparated away from St. Mungo's early on Wednesday, landing in a dark alley way. They landed harshly, Harry falling to his knees in disorientation. Swallowing away bile, Harry graciously accepted Severus' vial of a light-green concoction. Grimacing at the taste, his dizziness soon faded away, and Severus led his ward out of the alley. With the boy's trunk trailing behind -  disillusioned from the Muggles, of course -  Severus pointed out one of the nearly identical houses lining the cobblestone street. 

Severus was clearly uncomfortable showing Harry his childhood home, shoulders tense as he unlocked the door and surreptitiously floated in Harry's trunk. The house was dim, with the blinds closed to keep out the sunlight. Harry peeked out of the window, sneezing as the shifting curtains picked up dust. 

He turned back around as Severus cast a quick spell, causing orange flames to erupt in the fireplace. Harry looked around the lightened room with the barely-concealed excitement of a child; compared to Harry's accommodations at Privet Drive, Severus' stately home on Spinner's End was a haven. 

The living area was overrun with books, their lack of moving pictures indicating them as purely Muggle. Worn chairs were arranged in a circle around the fireplace, handmade doilies daintily settled over the armrests; Harry didn't comment on their presence, simply smiling at the slight blush Severus wore. A few pictures of a small woman with a crooked nose and soft-looking black hair were framed on the wall, her eyes sparkling as she held a dark-haired baby. 

A bit later, Harry wandered into the kitchen, Severus murmuring half-hearted apologies about the state of things. 

The fixings and pipes in the kitchen were old and rusted, the air smelling of burnt bread while the counter was splattered with stains. The stove and oven were in awful condition, indicating to Harry that his new guardian didn't cook much. The fridge was scarce of food, and Severus swore softly beneath his breath. Assuring Harry they would go shopping later, he led Harry up the stairs. 

Across the hall from a firmly shut door was small bedchamber. Slightly larger than his room at the Dursley's, the walls were painted a soft green, the floors covered with a faded brown carpet.

An armoire stood beside the window, looking a bit chipped. From within were a few jumpers and shoes, amazingly close to Harry's current size. Beside the wardrobe was a rectangular window frame, the brown curtains moth-bitten and parted slightly to reveal a plain brick wall.A small bed was pushed in the corner, as if sleep hadn't been particularly important to it's old inhabitants. Beside the bed and atop a rickety wooden table was a wind-up clock, showing the time  _7:34._

Old school textbooks in cardboard boxes were stacked by the wall, and with a swish of Severus' wand, the mess was cleared out. The tomes flew into a small bookshelf nailed above the desk, although Severus left space for Harry's own belongings. 

As Severus placed Harry's trunk at the foot of the bed, the ceiling light flickered for a moment. Harry looked up to see a large splotch of faded blue, shimmering in response to Severus' magic. _A potions explosion?_ Harry wondered, lips twitching upwards. 

"This used to be your room?" he correctly surmised, brushing his fingers against the old, frayed bed quilt.

Severus shifted in place, nodding stiffly. "My father," he sneered. "Held the same mindset towards magic as your dear  _relatives_. My mother, however, was a witch, and so my father didn't assault me -  _much -_ in fear of her nonexistent wrath." Severus nodded toward the ceiling stain. "After entering Hogwarts, my father wouldn't let me experiment with my potions in the kitchen, so I made do with permanent silencing charms and heavy discretion." 

Harry blinked, pink lips slipping open slightly. 

"I will find you some new blankets, those are absolutely disgusting," the man changed subjects quickly, gathering the quilt and exiting the room with a swoop of dark robes. 

Harry bit his lip, uneasiness filling his chest. _Severus' father was like the Dursleys?_ he wondered, disbelieving. 

 _How could any parent even_ think _of - of -_ ugh. 

To keep himself busy, Harry went through his trunk and attempted to make the room more lively.

Finding some tape in the desk drawer, he placed a few handmade drawings onto the wall above his - or, Severus' old - bed. 

An image of Hedwig went first, and Harry wondered where his bird had gotten off too. Knowing she wouldn't abandon him for good, he assumed that she was having difficulty finding him. He and Dobby _had_ left the Dursley's rather abruptly, and he'd only stayed at St. Mungo's for a few days. 

As Harry opened the window and set up Hedwig's perch (just in case she returned), Severus swooped back in, a handful of dark blue sheets in his arms. "Here," he said abruptly, dropping them onto the mattress. Twitching his wand, the bed was made up and Harry smiled at his guardian thankfully.

Severus seemed a bit taken aback at the boy's gratitude, but quickly remembered that Harry'd slept in a Cupboard for ten years - something he'd gleaned from the boy during their time at the hospital. "I'm going out to get some food," the wizard declared after a few pregnant moments. "Was there anything you desired?" 

The boy shook his head quickly, murmuring negatives beneath his breath. Severus resisted rolling his eyes, and thankfully dropped the subject. "I will be back in an hour or so. You may 'explore' the household, but I request that you avoid my chambers and _do not go into_ the basement. The attic and all other rooms are yours to investigate, but - _please_ ," he forced out, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. "Do not touch anything you'd deem breakable. I'm sure that isn't difficult to follow?" 

"Yes, sir. I mean - no, sir. I understand," Harry assured.  

Severus paused for a moment, debating to himself. "I know this isn't much," the man started, sounding uncharacteristically unsure. "Living in solitude, I've never required many things and . . . and I know the house is not well maintained, but - "

Harry smiled at his professor and moved forward to wrap the man in a sudden embrace.

"Don't worry. It's perfect," he said softly. Severus, however, was dubious. "It _will_ be perfect," Harry corrected. "I'm good at cleaning and I can tell you - in my professional opinion - that it's got potential. Also . . . well, it's better than a dungeon and I haven't seen any coffins, so Ron owes me a galleon! It can go towards sprucing up the decor." 

A laugh was startled out of the older man, and he tentatively squeezed Harry's slim shoulders. 

Waving a hand in goodbye, Severus wish his boy good luck in livening the bedroom.

Entering his kitchen, the wizard selected a handful of Muggle pounds from within a chipped cookie jar and left for the market place. On a whim, he transfigured his usual robes into a plain black Muggle coat and wondered if his ward could use new clothing - ones that actually  _fit_ the boy's undersized figure. 

The neighbors, leaving for work - some with briefcases in hand, others dressed in plain, industry uniforms - gawked as Severus dragged a bicycle from beside his home, straddling it absentmindedly. The man pedaled down the streets, ignoring the wide-eyed faces peeking out from dirty windows. 

With the news of the young boy staying at Number Sixteen abuzz, 'the dark man' was soon becoming quite the enigma. 

This was the most they've seen of him in a year, and with a pubescent preteen boy within his midst, this summer holiday certainly wouldn't be dull. 

Severus was deeply amused. 

* * *

**August 12th, 1992**

Hedwig returned abruptly and without warning, startling Harry out of his half-hearted studying.

A head ache had been slowly forming behind his temples, the words on the pages squirming into slow indecipherability. Just as he was about to give up, he was distracted by a sharp pecking at his window, which had been closed to keep out the noise of an ever-pumping factory, stationed only a few blocks away from Spinner's End. 

Harry's head jerked up and he dropped his quill, a relieved smile on his lips.

"Hedwig!" he breathed, moving to unlatch the window.

The bird swooped in, dropping something on Harry's bed. Quickly finding her perch, Hedwig settled happily against the bar of metal. Ignoring the missive for now, Harry went to pet her, cooing sweetly. She nipped his fingers affectionately.

"How'd you find me, girl?" Harry asked, tickling her chin. Hedwig ruffled her wings in a non-answer, chittering quietly.

"I always knew you were smarter than the average bird," he mused, kissing her feathery forehead. "I've got so much to tell you - but first, what's this about?" 

Picking the abandoned envelope carefully, as if checking for explosives, Harry let out a pleased sound. "You've been at Hogwarts, then?" he guessed, rubbing a thumb over the green-inked address, reading; 

_Mr. H Potter,_

_The Smallest Bedroom,_

_16, Spinner's End,_

_Cokeworth,_

_England_

He flipped it over. Plastered to the flap was a wax seal, easily identified as the Hogwarts insignia. Harry peeled it open and read the supply list, noticing in surprise that all the Defense books were by the same author - a mister Gilderoy Lockhart. 

"Our new teacher must be a fan," Harry thought aloud, pushing back the guilt that came with having incinerated their last teacher. "Perhaps Severus will know who they are." 

Turning towards the door, he glanced at his bird, who followed his moments with a perpetually sharp gaze. "Want to come with? I'm sure Severus has something for you to nibble on in the kitchen. Perhaps some ham?"

Hedwig tilted her head, before vaulting onto his shoulder. Her talons dug into his skin, although she was careful not to rip his new, button-down shirt. Severus had taken him into town for some essentials, and Harry was surprised at how much attention they'd gleamed from the Muggles. 

Harry, protesting all the way, had been forcibly led into the second-hand clothing shop and told to _'pick something cute'._

After that enlightening expedition, Harry's was just relieved to finally own clothes that didn't smell like Dudley's body odor, nor hung off him like a dress. 

The boy skipped soundlessly down the stairs, Hedwig squawking slightly in annoyance. "Severus!" he called out as he entered the living area, stopping in front of the armchair. The wizard was reading the _Daily Prophet,_ a moving picture of some blonde woman from the editorial section simpering up at him. 

With his long hair tied back into a ribbon, Severus looked rather handsome on his day-off. His clothes were black, of course, but the cotton trousers and loose dress shirt were far more comfortable than his usual stiff robes. 

As Harry bounced on his heels, Hedwig focused her attention on the half-eaten sandwich sitting on the tea table. She flapped onto the ground, stretched and nipped at the loose meat before he could stop her. "I wasn't done with that," Severus said, eyes narrowing at the avian. "So the pest has returned, it seems?" 

"She's not a pest," Harry huffed, before passing over the letter. "Oh, and she brought the post. A new supply list for school. Do you know who the knew Defense teacher is?"

The older wizard snorted. "Well, it's not me, unfortunately. For some reason, it's supposed to be a secret - but he's a household name, I can tell you that much. Not  _this_ household, mind; that conceited, arrogant, disgustingly blonde narcissist is worse than even Black on a good day - " 

Harry was confused, but dismissed Severus' nattering. "I get it, I get it. You don't like him," _big surprise,_ he thought wryly. "I suppose I'll find out eventually." 

"Doubtless it will be splashed across the Daily Prophet soon enough," Severus muttered, folding the list into quarters. 

Harry remained quiet, waiting for his professor to finish. The man sighed. "I apologize. You may continue,"  

"Can I go with Draco to Diagon Alley?" Harry said quickly, leaning back as though expecting to be immediately denied.

To his surprise, Severus actually seemed to consider it. He hummed. "I suppose I could arrange something with Lucius. Next Wednesday, perhaps?" 

Harry smiled brilliantly. "Wicked. Shall I owl Draco?" 

The professor eyed Hedwig, who was contentedly swallowing the last of his sandwich. "I'd say yes just to get that birdbrain out of my house, but the wards around Malfoy Manor are a bit inimical to unwelcome creatures. And the albino peacocks would likely give her a rough time." 

 _'Peacocks?'_ Harry mouthed. 

"I will Floo Lucius later," Severus decided, standing to take his plate. "For now, while I make myself another lunch, please do not bother me.  Get some homework done, or play a game - perhaps read. For Merlin's sake, just occupy yourself - " 

As Hedwig chittered for more food, Severus made a kicking motion towards her. She fluttered out of range, Severus huffing in frustration. 

"- and take that damned sandwich-stealer with you!"

* * *

  **August 19th, 1992**

**_Borgin and Burkes, Knockturn Alley, Diagon Alley, London, England_ **

Harry, once again, displays his effortless knack for landing himself in problematic situations. 

It felt as though he were being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed to be spinning very fast and the roaring in his ears was absolutely deafening. Harry tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him feel sick. He shut his eyes tightly and fell not-so-gently onto cold stone.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he gingerly went to his feet, wincing at the soreness of his body.

Harry breathed in, smelling something decidedly unpleasant. Finding himself warily curious, he made the decision to step forward. Harry tripped out of a stone fireplace and into a large, dimly lit wizard’s shop — but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

His eyes widened at the sight of a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Sneering masks watched him from their place on a shelf, while an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter. Harry looked up to see rusty, spiked instruments hanging precariously from the ceiling. Glancing out the dirty window to see a dark, narrow street Harry discovered that he was definitely  _not_ in Diagon Alley. 

Dreading Severus' response if he had ended up on the other side of London, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the door. Before he’d got halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass - and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.  Spotting Lucius Malfoy's pale, perpetually displeased expression, Harry quickly brushed the remaining ash off himself as best as he could.

Draco was surprised to see him. 

"Harry!" he gasped, seeing the cuts littering Harry's delicate face. "What in the  _hell_ are you doing in here of all places? I thought we were meeting you at the Leaky Cauldron!" 

"Draco," Lucius admonished, looking down his nose at the boys. "Watch your language. However, Mr. Potter," the man paused. "My son raises a good point." 

The green-eyed boy looked down sheepishly, stray bits of ash falling from his hair. 

"Don't tell me," Draco said in amusement, eyeing his friend up and down. "You got lost in the Floo Network? Uncle Severus is going to bloody well  _kill_ you." 

The elder Malfoy was quick to swing at Draco's head, gloved hand sailing through the air as Draco deftly ducked, smirking. 

"It doesn't matter," Lucius muttered. "I will take care of it. Boys, get behind me. I've business to conduct, and I'm sure Severus wouldn't mind waiting a few minutes more." Draco and Harry exchanged a dubious look, but ducked behind the taller wizard. "Touch  _nothing,"_ the man warned them.

"Oh, oh, so guess what? I'm getting a new broom this year," the Malfoy heir chattered excitedly, hardly making an attempt to remain hushed. "Have you seen the new Nimbus Two-Thousand and One? You're trying out this year, right -  _Right?"_

Before Harry could answer, a stooping man appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face. 

“Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again,” Mr. Borgin said, his voice as oily as his hair. “Absolutely delighted. Oh, and young Master Malfoy, too," his eyes slid to Harry, roving over him before focusing on his veiled forehead. Lucius stepped to block the shopkeeper's view. 

"We're charmed," the blonde said dryly, fingers thumping on the counter impatiently.

Borgin cleared his throat, seeming to jolt back into action. "How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today, and very reasonably priced -”

“I’m not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling."

"S - selling?” The smile faded from Borgin’s face.

“You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids,” Lucius sighed, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it. "I have a few - ah -" he glanced back toward Harry. _"Items_ at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call. . . ”

Mr. Borgin pulled out a silver-polished monocle and looked down the list. “The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble _you_ , sir, surely?”

Lucius' lip curled. “I have not been visited yet, thankfully. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, however the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act; no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it - ” Harry, who had been watching the conversation avidly with Draco, bit his lip angrily. He knew the Malfoy and Weasley families didn't get along, but that was a bit  _much -_

“ - and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear . . . well.”

“I understand, sir, of course,” Borgin assured “Let me see,” he muttered.

“Can I have that?” Draco interrupted from beside Harry, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion. Harry surged forward to smack the blonde's hand away, just as the dismembered appendage spasmed forward. "Never mind," he choked out, silver eyes wide. 

“In that case, perhaps we can return to my list,” Lucius said shortly, sending a sharp look to his son. “I am in something of a hurry, Borgin. We have important business elsewhere today - ”

. . .

**_The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, London, England_ **

"You - _complete -_  and - _utter -_  Imbecile! _"_   Severus hissed out, yanking on Harry's ear. The brunette squeaked in surprise as he was dragged into a dark corner of the Leaky Cauldron, berated one moment and being embraced tightly the next. "You scared me half-to-death," his guardian muttered, running his fingers through Harry's soft hair.

The boy tried not to protest when the man pulled away, clearing his throat awkwardly and fixing his dark robes.

"Thank you, Lucius, for retrieving my ward," Severus told the blonde scion, who stood aloofly beside his son. Draco looked amused at Harry's ruffled appearance.

The elder Malfoy lifted an absent shoulder. "It was no trouble, Severus. It is merely fortunate that Mr. Potter was discovered before he could meet the usual crowd up in Knockturn," a smirk played at the man's lips. If anything, this made Severus even more disgruntled. 

"I agree, most fortunate," he groused, before jerking his head toward the back door of the pub. "Shall we? I hear there's an . . . _event_ at Flourish and Blotts, so the other shops will be relatively devoid of interlopers." 

And, of course, just because Severus didn't want to attend the book signing . . . Lucius insisted they should. 

. . . 

**_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England_ **

"Humiliating. Completely humiliating," Lucius hissed in pain, tipping his head as Narcissa delicately dabbed bruise paste next to his eye. He sat lackadaisically in a leather chair, his wife sitting primly on the arm rest with a bowl of yellow-brown gel in her lap. "Rolling around like a bloody  _heathen -_ it seems consorting with Mudbloods has addled Weasley's good sense. That poor excuse of a wizard has no  _idea_ who he'd messing with." 

Narcissa made a soft noise in her throat. "You didn't _have_ to speak with him, darling. Outside of work, there's no need to lower yourself so. And you know how Arthur used to rile you up in school." 

Draco, who lie on the carpet, idly flipping through one of his new books ('this _is what constitutes as literature nowadays?'_  his father had said), had to admire his mother's ability to speak with such blank-faced derision. He turned another page, stomach still roiling in frustration at the thought of leaving Diagon Alley so early; he hadn't even gotten to give his goodbyes to Harry . . . and knowing Lucius' pride, he probably wouldn't see his best friend until September the first. 

"Rile _me_ up? I have a much better temperament than the Weasel - oh, do be quiet, Narcissa. No, stop - ugh, don't you dare laugh at me, you bloody woman!" Lucius scowled as chime-like chuckles slipped pass his wife's lips. Draco couldn't help but snort slightly, himself.

"And  _you!"_ Lucius turned to his son, nose flaring. "Don't think I didn't notice you chattering it up with the youngest Weasley - oh, and there's a little Weaselette, too; they just can't stop procreating, it seems," he added to his wife. "The amount of red hair and freckles in that family is _revolting_."

Narcissa rolled her eyes, and Lucius frowned, looking to his son for imminent agreement.  

Draco forced an indulgent smirk, glancing up through his loose fringe. He'd decided to grow his hair out a bit, learning that the old gelled-backed look was quite the hassle to maintain. And, well . . . he looked a little too much like Lucius for his own comfort. A few years ago, that might've been something to aspire for, but now - 

"Draco!" Lucius snapped out, thinking his son was ignoring him. "What have I told you about consorting with the  _wrong_ sort?"

The Malfoy patriarch looked every bit like a ruffled cockatoo, with his wife dutifully preening him like a monkey would. 

His son sighed, shutting  _Wandering With Werewolves._ "Not to," Draco grumbled, grabbing his books. "But then, where else would I get my entertainment from, father? I know how much you enjoy getting Arthur Weasley's face to become as red - and as hideous - as his hair." 

Lucius paused, resting a hand on his wife's knee to halt her attentions. Narcissa hummed, dabbing one last time on his slowly dissipating bruise before slipping off the chair. "He has a point, darling. Need I remind you - "

"No! There is no need!" Lucius broke out, eyes wide. 

As Narcissa left the room, laughing the whole way, the man stared down at his son with a mixture of exasperation and slight fondness. He really ought to be putting up more of a fight, but after brawling in a  _bookshop_ of all places - like a common _Muggle -_  he really didn't care much for decorum at the moment.

Something with that gleam in Draco's familiar silver eyes reminded Lucius of himself at that age; baiting the Gryffindorks, leading them into a highly-thought out trap made of sly manipulation and ending in imminent public humiliation - Well. 

Every well-rounded Malfoy needed a hobby, of course. 

Lucius scowled to himself, thinking about the small diary he'd planted in the Weaselette's cauldron. Manipulation was a prime value in that situation, but the only public humiliation had been his own. The man pinched his nose slightly, before flipping his hair back imperiously.

"I suppose I can't fault you for that," he said grudgingly. 

"Nope," Draco said cheerfully, swaggering out to follow his mother. "And if you bring it up again, I'll just have to use my memory of today's events as blackmail. You truly shouldn't have taught me how to use a Pensieve." He smirked down at his boy, the corner of his mouth lifting ever-so slightly.

"If that was your plan, you shouldn't have  _told_ me it,"

Draco just shrugged, smiling mischievously. "Everyone makes mistakes, father - you know that better than anyone," The boy leveled a knowing stare at his father, one that Draco probably picked up from Narcissa. Lucius leaned back in the chair, eyes narrowed slightly as he followed the second year's exit. 

 _"_ _Touché_ , my son," he said softly.  _"_ _T_ _ouché_." 

* * *

**_To be continued . . ._ **


	5. Ophidian: Five

**Ophidian**

_(adj. relating to or denoting snakes.) **  
**_

**A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover ** **  
**

**Part 5 of the _Amalgamation Series_**

by _Tannin & Tele_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters._

. . .

 ** _Warnings:_  ** _Chapter includes mentions of child abuse, child neglect and mild language._

_The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's._

 

* * *

**Chapter Five**

. . .

**September 1st, 1992**

**_King's Cross Station, London, England_ **

"Please? If you'd just -" 

"No." 

"But you're going to Hogwarts _anyways_  - " 

"We've already spoken about this, Harry. The Hogwarts express is _not optional -_  only in special circumstances does the Headmaster allow alternate transportation to Hogwarts, and the Savior of the wizarding world does not need any such attention. Do you?" Severus said firmly, grasping Harry by the shoulder.

"No, I don't," Harry sniffed, lip jutting out slightly. "But can't I just go with you?" 

With a flick of Severus' wand, Harry's trunk trailed sentiently behind them as they crossed the barrier to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. "Honestly, Potter, I see no feasible reason why you can't go on the express. I don't understand why you're being so - ah." Severus quickly controlled his irritated expression after spotting a crowd of witches surrounding the burnt red express train.

Cries of _"Gilderoy! Gilderoy, sign this!"_ reached their ears, and the wizard kneaded his forehead. 

"Seems we can never be rid of the blonde menace," the man said dryly. 

A luscious quill in hand, Lockhart leaned out of an open window on the Hogwarts Express, signing parchment after parchment as well as a variety of body parts. A herd of squealing woman were reaching towards the celebrity, asking questions, snapping pictures and blushing fiercely when he sent them a blinding grin or a wink. He was wearing a bright pair of persimmon-colored robes, his hair set in perfect ringlets while his blue eyes were twinkling almost as bad as Dumbledore's on a good day. 

As Harry grimaced at the flashing cameras, taking a moment to flatten his fringe, the Potion's Master made a face. 

"Another publicity stunt, then. Did you know about this?" 

"I did not." 

Severus sighed. "It's no matter. Let's just find you a compartment  _away_ from that mongering group of sheeple." 

"No protests there," Harry muttered. "But . . . um. C - can I talk to you about something?"

Curious, Severus jerked his head toward a secluded corner of the platform.

"Is this about what happened last year?" he asked lowly, putting a placating hand on his ward's slim shoulder. 

Harry lowered his head shamefully, a slit of green peeking up through dark eyelashes. "I s - suppose that's apart of it. " Harry pulled nervously on the sleeves of his robes. "I've been worrying all week and I haven't been sleeping well."

"You should have told me," Severus frowned. "But better now than later. What could be upsetting you so?" 

The boy swallowed, ignoring the slight shrewdness for the genuine concern in his guardian's eyes. "I'm - I'm _scared_ , Severus."

The older man paused, before urging him to continue. "Of Hogwarts - or of the Dark Lord?" 

"Both. Dumbledore, too," Harry admitted. "After Quirrell died and Vold - the Dark Lord," he corrected, anticipating Severus' slight flinch. " - fled, I had hoped it would be all over . . . for a bit, at least. But at the end of the year, Dumbledore told me it was 'only the beginning'. He said that the Dark Lord would return, and after Dobby's warning, I'm a bit worried that something _bad_ will happen again," Harry finished shyly. "What if I don't  _want_ to go back to Hogwarts?"

Severus sucked in a breath, eyes closing for a moment.

He Occluded his mind rapidly, pushing back his anger at Dumbledore and the Malfoy's ridiculous elf for their so called 'help'. After Dobby had been freed, Severus had immediately sent the creature to Hogwarts, hoping he would be kept busy enough to stop pestering Severus' ward. Although the elf was no longer an issue, Dumbledore would be a constant and persistent one. 

That in mind, above all else, Severus was feeling helpless.

Harry was  _suffering_ from this constant worry, and Severus saw no way to alleviate it; but he could sure as hell try. 

"My flower," the man whispered, lifting Harry's delicate chin. "While I cannot promise you complete amity from the Dark Lord and his minions, I will do my damned hardest to insure Dumbledore machinations will no longer cause you such suffering. But to do that, you need to _trust_ me, alright?" Severus said imploringly, looking down into those vibrant green eyes. "Just like you did last year,  _come_ to me when you notice something suspicious; don't let yourself be dragged along on wild adventures or talked into doing something dangerous or imbecilic _._ You've got great instincts, Harry, and to keep safe, you need to have faith in them.

"Have faith in _yourself,_ and know that I will never let anything bad happen to you _ever again_ \- not if I can help it." 

Tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, Harry nodded, burying his face into the chest of his guardian. 

To think, this time last year, Harry didn't know a thing about love or protection. He'd been played the short hand far too often in his young life, but finally, something was going right; someone  _cared._

A year ago, Severus had hated the boy simply for being the son of James Potter, despite the fact Harry wasn't a thing like Severus' childhood bully. No one could have expected the greasy bat of the dungeons to give a damn about  _anyone,_ and yet, there he was - _in public -_  cradling in his arms the fragile, broken boy he'd come to think of as offspring. 

Severus was just glad that he'd be seeing Harry everyday at school, otherwise he'd have gone mad with worry. 

The train whistle went off, and the two wizards were snapped out of their musings.

Pressing his lips to the pale skin to the right of Harry's iconic scar, Severus pushed  _his son_ toward the red steam engine. Lockhart, meanwhile, was finally pulling away from his adoring fans, waving a well-manicured hand out the window. 

"I'll be at Hogwarts when you arrive," Severus said softly, just loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of goodbyes. Harry boarded the train, giving a slight nod and smiling watery. As the train pulled away and Harry's black mop of hair disappeared into a compartment, Severus let out a long breath. He pulled himself together, chastising himself for being so sentimental. He'd see the boy in a few short hours, there was no need to get so worked up. 

Severus coughed slightly, trying to get the lump out of his throat. 

"I'll be there," he repeated to himself, one last time. 

_Always._

. . . 

_**Between London, England and Hogsmeade Station, Hogsmeade, Scotland** _

"Do Muggle cars usually fly?" Ron wondered aloud, idly licking the sugar from his fingertips.

Harry was sitting - or, rather, lying - in the seat across from the ginger, resting his head in Draco's lap. The aristocrat's son had been poking obnoxiously at Harry's nose, leaving it tinted slightly pink in annoyance. When Harry had playfully slapped the finger away, Draco tsked softly.  _'My lap, my rules,'_ he'd said quite plainly. Harry, too tired to argue, simply turned his head and buried it in Draco's robes. 

As the boys lazed about the small compartment, Hermione was steadfastly ignoring the (slowly receding) pile of candies between herself and Ron. Instead, she hid behind a crisp copy of  _Voyages With Vampires,_ somehow enjoying the horrifically vapid prose. 

"Fly?" Hermione responded a few moments later, flipping a page. "No, cars don't fly quite yet. That's what aeroplanes are for. Why do you ask?" 

As Draco mouthed _'_ _aero - planes?'_  to himself,Ron quickly swallowed his bite of cauldron cake. 

"Well, I was just wondering, since my dad has bewitched his old Ford Angelia, and I'm almost positive I just saw it soaring past just now - there, you see?" He pressed his finger to the window glass.

Hermione made a disbelieving noise and slipped in a tasseled bookmark. "Don't be ridiculous. Magic and Muggle machinery very rarely mix well, so it would be very dangerous to - those complete  _fools!"_ Hermione gasped, craning her head to follow the spot of dark blue as it flicked across the skies. 

"Told you so," Ron leaned back, satisfied. 

Harry lifted his head, climbing across the seat to see what the fuss was about. The brunette and blonde peeked over Hermione's shoulder to see a distant patch of orange hair leaning out the car window, a pale hand waving madly at the passing train. "Aren't those the twins?" Harry gaped, blinking in surprise as the Ford Angelia flickered back into invisibility and disappeared beyond the clouds. 

"Yup," Ron said, looking a bit gleeful. "They're going to be in  _so_ much trouble." 

"Whatever could have urged them so?" Hermione asked, lips pinching in extreme disapproval. 

The redhead paused. "Well, with the whole Lockhart business, I suppose they might've got it into their heads to try and outshine the ponce." 

Draco arched an eyebrow. "That's remarkably attentive of you, Weasley." 

Ron just laughed. "Nah, I overheard them whispering about it last night. I didn't think they'd actually go _through_ with it! They paid me off not to tell mum, but I've a feeling she'll find out soon enough." 

"Why?" Hermione asked. 

Ron smirked. "Unfortunately, there isn't enough gas for a full trip to Scotland - dad says that the Invisibility Booster drains the tank quite fast. I doubt they'll even make it to Hogwarts without crash-landing." Three sets of eyes widened dramatically, and Hermione crossed her arms reproachfully. 

"That's a bit cruel for you, isn't it, Ron?" Harry said, biting his lip. "Couldn't they get hurt?"

"Probably. They'll learn their lesson, though," the Gryffindor shrugged. 

Draco leaned back into the seat, his expression one of faint approval. "We've been rubbing off on him, Harry. Don't complain - it's a great improvement." 

* * *

**September 2nd, 1992**

  _ **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Highlands, Scotland**_

Harry had only just started his porridge when there was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed into the Great Hall, dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. Crabbe was treated with a small lumpy package landing into the milk jug, while Draco retrieved a large box of treats. Harry smiled as Hedwig landed beside him, pecking at the nearby tray of bacon.

Over at the Gryffindor table, a large missive bounced off Neville’s head and  - a second later - something withered and gray fell into Hermione’s eggs, splattering them all with bits of yellow and feathers. "Errol!" Ron breathed out, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet.

Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak.

"Oh, ho!" Ron smiled, lifting up a large red envelope with a pair of tongs. "I think he got the wrong Weasley. Oi, Fred, George! This one's for you." 

As he tossed the letter over to the twins, it began smoking at the corners. George caught it belatedly, wincing as it nearly burned to the touch. "Shall we, Fred?" He whispered conspiratorially. "We could just stuff it under a bowl and wait for the smoke to clear."

The taller twin bit his lip, before shrugging. "Nah. Let's give 'em all a show." Fred stretched out a slightly trembling hand, eased the envelope from George's hands, and slit it open with a bitter knife. All around them, their magical peers stuffed their fingers in their ears, waiting for the inevitable.

From across the hall, Harry flinched violently in surprise, dropping his spoon as a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

" - STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU TWO, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU'D STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE - " Mrs. Weasley’s shrill rebuttal, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, her voice echoing deafeningly off the stone walls.

People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and the twins were wincing slightly at the noise. " - LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME; WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU TWO COULD BOTH HAVE _DIED_ \-  WE'RE ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED. YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, AND IT’S _ENTIRELY_ YOUR FAULT! IF YOU PUT ANOTHER _TOE OUT OF LINE_  I’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME AND GIVE YOU SUCH A SPANKING THAT YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO _THINK_ STRAIGHT SO MUCH AS SIT AND CONCOCT ANY OTHER RECKLESS SCHEMES."

Harry's fingers spasmed slightly at the thought of corporal punishment. His anxiety went by unnoticed by Draco, who was doubled over, laughing silently. 

"OH - AND GINNY, DEAR," the envelope turned toward the slim redhead girl who was hunched demurely on the bench. "CONGRATULATIONS ON MAKING IT TO GRYFFINDOR; YOUR FATHER AND I ARE _SO_ PROUD.” At that, the Howler gave one last warning 'look' to the twins, before tearing itself into pieces and bursting into flames. 

A ringing silence fell.

The twins sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over them. The hall was completely silent, and George's Adam's apple bobbed. "I do believe we've rendered them speechless, Gred," he said with a shaky smile. 

"A miracle, that is, Forge," the other agreed. 

Sharp laughs broke out, and gradually, a babble of talk broke out again. Harry searched out Ron, who was grinning ear-to-ear. The black-haired boy shook his head and returned to his breakfast, the pounding in his heart ceasing little by little.

"So that's a Howler," he said aloud, glancing at Draco. The blonde smirked widely. 

"Uh huh. Just wait 'til  _you_ get one." 

The younger Slytherin made an amused noise in the back of his throat, prodding a spoon at his porridge. "I think not." 

. . . 

Following Transfiguration and Herbology - in which Harry successfully transfigured a coat button and Draco nearly strangled his Mandrake - was their Lunch period. 

"What do we have this afternoon?" Draco wondered aloud, ladling a cup of light stew. 

Goyle belched loudly before dragging out his schedule. "Defense and Double Potions, both with the Gryffindorks," he informed, voice gruff. 

Theo's brown eyes glimmered slightly with mirth. "Why, Goyle, did you outline all of Lockhart's classes in pink hearts? Something you want to tell us, mate?"

The bigger boy scowled, stuffing the paper away. "It's not _mine!_ I lost my schedule - " 

"Already?" 

" - and Greengrass made me a copy of hers. She's gotta crush on Lockhart." 

Blaise and Theo laughed as the blonde girl blushed, lanky bangs covering her eyes. "I do not have a  _crush_ on Professor Lockhart," she sniffed, flicking a pea at the boys.  

"Oh,  _professor,_ is it?" Blaise snorted, dodging the green pod. "How cute."

"Shut it, Zabini," Daphne scowled. 

"Oh, don't be mean, Blaise," Theo teased. "Even your mother thinks he's  _dashing._  Is there a new step-daddy in the making?"

Blaise's eyes flashed dangerously. 

"Well, he is _quite_ dashing,"Pansy said, waving a hand over her face. 

Theo rubbed his hands together. "So you think you've got a chance with him, Pansy darling?" 

"He's in  _Witch's Weekly_ as a top illegible bachelor," Pansy crossed her arms huffily, flicking a dark strand of hair from her eyes. 

"Well, there's no wonder why he's single," Draco inserted, voice low. "Father says he's queer as a clockwork orange. Did you see how Lockhart was fondling Harry up at Flourish and Blott's? It was entirely indecent." 

Harry looked uncomfortable. "Well, he is attractive," he muttered. "But every time he opens his mouth I like him even less."

Draco eyed his best friend. "Something  _you_ want to tell us, Harry? I thought I was the only blonde in your life," he pouted. 

Harry smiled shyly, ducking his head.

"You're forgetting about that Gryffindor brat. He's a blonde. The Mudblood - Creevey?" Theo sipped at his milk. 

"Ugh, don't remind me!" Marcus Flint said darkly from down the table. "It's only been a day, but that Creevey whelp has already gone too far. His camera flash went off while Gem and I were . . . rendezvousing in an empty classroom, but he ran before I could hex him. I swear, he's become a bloody stalker."

"Voyeur, more like," Blaise muttered. 

Harry glanced up, green eyes bewildered. "What's a voyeur?" he asked innocently. 

A table full of stares focused onto the small second year. "I'll leave you to explain that one, mate," Blaise patted Draco's arm, the blonde looking less than anticipatory.

"Ask Severus," Draco said dismissively, smirking as he met the dark glare on him from the Head Table. "We'll visit him after Lockhart's class." 

The Boy-Who-Lived sighed. "Can't wait." 

 . . .

When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. 

He reached forward, picked up Neville Longbottom’s copy of _Travels with Trolls_ , and held it up to show his own, winking portrait on the front.

“Me,” he said genially, pointing one manicured finger at the moving image. “Gilderoy Lockhart; Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don’t talk about that. I certainly didn’t get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her!”

He waited for them to laugh, but only a few people smiled weakly. Draco was covering his face, trying to fight his amusement. 

“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we’d start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about, it's very simple, just to check how well you’ve read them, how much you’ve taken in . . . ” After handing out the test papers he returned to the front of the class, blue robes sweeping. “You have thirty minutes to complete the test. How about the first to finish gets a signed photograph, eh? Is that enough incentive? Alright. You may start . . . _nnnnn -_ now!"

He pointed his wand at the blackboard, which was bewitched to count down from thirty minutes in wide, flourishing numbers. Harry looked down at his paper and immediately gained a throbbing behind his eye; He'd never make it the entire year if everything was written in that gaudy script.  

_1\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color?_

_2\. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition?_

_3\. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date?_

On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to:

_54\. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be?_

The young Slytherin gave up at around thirty-seven, the letters swirling too drastically to decipher. Hermione finished first, a quill in her mouth and her eyes wild. Daphne was next, scowling jealously at the muggle-born Gryffindor. 

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class.

"Tut, tut - hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in _Year with the Yeti,_ when I lost my favorite scarf. I used it as a tourniquet when healing a young Alps native who called the Yeti a _'volltrottel' ._ I don't know why the Yeti was so insulted, the natives called me much the same thing. It's a fond nickname, I believe," he said thoughtfully, licking his thumb. "Now, a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully. I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples; although I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky!”

He gave them another roguish wink.

"Oh, and I'm disappointed - Harry, did you even read your copy of _Gadding with Ghouls?"_ he came to stand across from the brunette, who slunk slightly in his seat. 

"I'll memorize the textbook tonight, sir," he responded, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lockhart smiled brightly, and brushed his hand against Harry's thin arm. An unpleasant shiver went up the boy's spine. "No worries, my dear boy!"

Ron, sitting beside his bushy-haired friend, was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of disbelief on his face; Theo, Blaise and two other Gryffindors seated in front were shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name.

". . . it seems that Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact . . . " he flipped her paper over. "Full marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

Hermione raised a trembling hand, eyes bright with pride. “Excellent!” Lockhart beamed. “Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And as you were the first to finish, come to me afterwards for your signed photograph!"

Daphne was practically shaking with envious rage. 

"And so, to business." He bent down behind his desk (giving his students a view of his well-rounded bum, causing a few girls to swoon), and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. "Be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizard-kind! You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room, but know only that no harm can befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.”

In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage.

Lockhart placed a hand on the cover.  "I must ask you not to scream,” Lockhart stared in a low voice. “It might provoke them.” As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover. "Yes," he said dramatically. _“Freshly  - caught - Cornish - pixies.”_

One Gryffindor boy couldn’t control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart couldn’t mistake for a scream of terror. 

“Yes?” He smiled at Seamus, although the look in his eyes was a bit scary. 

"Well, they’re not - they’re not very — _dangerous_ , are they?” Seamus forced out.

“Don’t be so sure!” Lockhart defended, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. “Devilish tricky little blighters they can be!”

The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the people nearest them.

"Right, then,” Lockhart said loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!”

He opened the cage, and pandemonium struck. Screams sounded across the room as they shot in every direction like rockets.

Two of them seized Neville by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling.

"Come on now — round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart said, looking a bit nervous. He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, _“Peskipiksi Pesternomi!”_

Expectedly, it had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too.

Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way. The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit.  Draco grabbed Harry by the sleeve and dragged him out, leaving Ron, Hermione and Neville to fend for themselves.

"Nasty traitors!" Ron screamed after them, his face red with exertion. 

In the relative calm that followed, Lockhart straightened up and caught sight Ron of and Hermione, who were ducked beneath a desk. “Well," he swallowed. "I’ll ask you two to just nip the rest of them back into their cage, if you would - " he fled very quickly afterwards, slamming the door to his office. 

Ron stood stiffly, his jaw clenched angrily. "I  - will - murder - him." 

Hermione patted his arm, looking a bit pale, herself. "Calm down, it's fine. He just wants to give us some hands-on experience. And, anyways, no murder on school grounds. Only severe maiming, at the most." She flicked her wand, immobilizing two pixies at once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage.

“Hands on?” Ron hissed as he tried to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. "Hermione, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing - oh, Neville, you're bleeding. Go on, go see Madam Pomfrey." The redhead helped up the swaying brunette, who seemed to have gained a concussion upon falling from the ceiling. 

As the Gryffindor stumbled out, Hermione puffed out a breath, a stray curl floating upwards. "Rubbish,” she dismissed, although doubt still tinged her words. "You’ve read his books . . . just - just look at all those amazing things he’s done!"

"He _says_ he’s done,” Ron muttered. "But I wouldn't trust that man any farther than I can throw him." 

Hermione stared at him. "You  _are_ a wizard, Ron - just use a levitation charm." 

The redhead arched an eyebrow. "But I thought that charm wasn't supposed to be used on humans, they could fall - oh." He smiled. "Oh, yes." 

"No, Ronald," the girl hissed, slamming the cage door shut. "Don't even think about it. Now, I'm going to get my signed photograph, and I don't want to hear another word of complaint from you. Professor Lockhart is a great, brave man, and it does no good to bellyache about his teaching methods." She waggled a finger at him, looking eerily like a mixture of Ron's mother and the very man who he so thoroughly despised.  

"Fine," Ron scowled. "But when you end up dead because of that man's mistakes, don't come crying to me," he swept from the room, ears burning red with anger. 

Hermione threw her hands in the air, expression frustrated. "That didn't make any  _sense!"_

* * *

**_To be continued . . ._ **


	6. Ophidian: Six

**Ophidian**

_(adj. relating to or denoting snakes.) **  
**_

**A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover ** **  
**

**Part 5 of the _Amalgamation Series_**

by _Tannin & Tele_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters._

. . .

 ** _Warnings:_  ** _Chapter may include mentions of child abuse, child neglect, mild language and depictions of violence._

 _The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's._  

* * *

**Chapter Six**

. . .

**September 5th, 1992**

Harry spent a lot of time over the next few days dodging out of sight whenever he saw Gilderoy Lockhart coming down a corridor. Harder to avoid was Colin Creevey, who seemed to have memorized Harry’s schedule. Draco was no help, always shoving Harry forward like a human shield whenever they crossed either blonde's path. Meanwhile, the Howler incident seemed to have passed, and it was clear to many that the Weasley twins were cowed enough to resist further scheming - for another few weeks, at least.

With Lockhart's torturous classes and the frequent meetings with Severus (and Draco) to chat - i.e. _complain_   _about Lockhart_ \- Harry happy to reach the weekend.

He, Ron, Hermione and Draco were planning to visit Hagrid on Saturday morning, but those plans were cut short as Harry was shaken awake several hours earlier than he would have liked. "What?" Harry puled, pressing his face into the pillow. 

"We've got Quidditch tryouts today!" Draco whispered, shaking Harry's shoulder. "Did you forget?" 

Harry squeezed his eyes shut. "Merlin, Draco - it's the crack of dawn!" 

"That's an exaggeration, and you're up anyways! Come on, _please?"_  The desperate pleading in Draco's silver eyes was what got to him.

Grumbling, Harry allowed Draco to pull him up, the blonde shoving a pair of slim black pants, a dark green top and worn Quidditch gear into his arms. "Where's this from?" Harry asked, feeling the dragon leather arm guard.

Draco shrugged. "It's my old gear. I figure you're about the same size I was . . . when I was eight."

Harry glowered half-heartedly. "You have ten seconds to flee. Ten, nine, eight, seven - "

Laughter filled the room as Draco dashed away, calling back; "Tryouts begin in a half-hour! I'll meet you on the grounds."

"Wait," Harry sighed. "What about a broom? I never bought one." 

Draco peeked around the door, winking. "Don't you worry about that. I've got you covered." 

. . . 

"For those who are woefully unaware," Marcus Flint sneered down at the small group of students, all of them bleary eyed and fighting yawns. "There are seven players on each side Quidditch team. Three of them are called Chasers, who chuck the Quaffle at each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. They win ten points each time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Myself, Adrian Pucey and Graham Montague are your Chasers, and we will be until we graduate. Anyone trying out specifically for that position might as well leave now," he said.

"Follow me so far, brats?" 

As two tall third-years ambled away, muttering vitriol beneath their breath, the remaining children nodded.

Draco, on the other hand, began looking exceedingly impatient. 

"Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper. The position for Keeper is available, but you must be able to guard our hoops  _efficiently_ without dosing off. Capiche? Now, as for these bad boys - " Flint smiled unpleasantly, gesturing toward a small, rattling trunk. "Any volunteers?" 

Despite Flint's decidedly vile expression, Millicent Bulstrode and a thick-set boy with long black hair lifted their hands hesitantly.

Flint gave them appraising looks. "Take this." He handed them both a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat. "These are the Bludgers, and unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - you will not get a chance to see them at their full power until the next game. Hooch's new rules," he grimaced. 

He showed the Slytherins two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harry noticed that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box. Taking a deep breath, Flint bent down and freed one of the Bludgers. At once, the black ball rose high in the air and pelted straight at Millicent's face. The long-haired boy squeaked pitifully, dropped his bat and ran for the castle.

Millie swung at the Bludger to stop it from breaking her nose, and sent it zigzagging away into the air. 

A few of them screamed as it zoomed around their heads before shooting at Flint, who flicked his curved wand, forcing it to the ground. 

"As you saw, the Bludgers jerk around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team, and it's their job to protect their side and knock the Bludgers toward the other team."

"Um, sir?" A nervous-looking boy asked. "Have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?"

Flint smirked. "It's been known to happen," he said vaguely. "Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. They are often targeted by the other team because if they catch _this -_ " Flint pulled from his pocket a wriggling, gleaming ball. "They win their team an extra hundred and fifty points. But don't get too cocky - it's very hard to catch. The Golden Snitch is a sprightly little bugger, and it's damn hard to spot when you've got to weave between all the other players." 

Harry narrowed his green eyes, watching the little golden ball flutter it's silver wings. He hadn't been sure until now what position he wanted to play, but despite all the risks, a visceral pull was telling him that above all else . . . he wanted to be a Seeker. 

. . . 

Upon realizing that Draco had ten shrunken Nimbus Two-Thousand and Ones in his pocket, Flint had immediately given the blonde his choice of positions. Noticing Harry's attachment to the Golden Snitch - which the nimble boy caught five out of five times during practice - Draco decided he'd try his hand at Keeping. 

Carlisle Warrington (the third) and Vega Vaisley became reserve Chasers, while Miles Bletchley was chosen reserve Keeper. Millicent Bulstrode was a shoe-in for Beater, along with a talented, blonde boy named Terrence Higgs; Flint seemed satisfied with the team, but warned them all that he 'didn't tolerate losers'. 

About two hours later, the last seven finalists followed Flint, Pucey and Montague from their secluded training area to the Quidditch Pitch, each one excited to try out the new brooms Draco's father had 'donated' to the team. In the distance, they could see a large collection of crimson-robed figures, and Flint gained an eerie smile.

"Let's have some fun, shall we?" he murmured, and almost in synchronization, the Slytherins hiked up their new, sleek brooms. 

Oliver Wood, Gryffindor captain, immediately turned red.  “Flint!” He bellowed at the Slytherin Captain.

“This is our practice time! We woke up specially! You can clear off now!”

Flint, however, was unfazed. "Plenty of room for all of us, Wood," he said smoothly. 

“But I booked the field!” Wood stomped his foot, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!”

Flint hummed. “Perhaps you did, but I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. Assuming your intelligence is as lacking as your skills, I shall read it for you. _‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new players.’_ ”

Wood frowned darkly at that, peering at Harry, Draco and Millicent with dark eyes  "A bunch of second years - really, Flint? At least you've finally gotten past your archaic views against female athletes." Millicent and Vega Vaisley narrowed their eyes dangerously. 

"Hey - aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” One of the Weasley twins said, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

Flint gave a light chuckle. “Funny you should mention Draco’s father," he said, and the Slytherins smiled still more broadly.

“Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”

Several highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun. “Very latest model. Only came out last month,” Flint added carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps - it, ah - _sweeps_ the board with them.”

The Gryffindors were fuming, and Draco was smirking so broadly that his cold eyes were reduced to slits. Harry rolled his.

"Oh, look,” Millicent pointed out. “A field invasion.”

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass, a book held tightly to the girl's chest.

“What’s happening?” Ron asked his brothers, scowling at the group of snakes. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s  _he_ doing here?”

Draco wiggled his fingers in greetings. “I’m the new Slytherin Keeper, Weasley - and unsurprising, really, I'm quite talented. Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.” Ron gaped, open-mouthed. “Good, aren’t they?” Draco continued, happily stroking the handle of his Nimbus Two-Thousand and One. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” Hermione snapped, eyes sharp. “They got in on pure _talent_.”

Harry stepped in at the murderous expression on his best mate's face. Before Draco could say something nasty, he spoke up.

"No need to worry about that, 'Mione," Harry said, voice tense. "We all tried out for our positions - " _well, some of us, at least._ "So let's not throw around accusations here." 

Hermione crossed her arms, looking slightly contrite, but the other Slytherins weren't done. "That's right! No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” Draco spat out without thinking. At the sudden springing of tears in Hermione's eyes, Harry knew at once that Draco had made a mistake. Draco knew it too, clear by the sudden and unconscious slackening of his petulant expression. 

 _"How dare you!"_ Came a belated shriek, and all hell broke loose. 

. . . 

"Weasley certainly packs a punch," Draco said later, grimacing uncomfortably. "I suppose this was what father felt like after the book shop." 

Harry, too, found it extremely ironic that both Malfoys - so firm in their wizardry - resorted to the art of Muggle fisticuffs when their temper was roused. 

"Oh, that reminded me. What's a _'Mudblood_ '?" Harry asked, looking innocently up at his mentor while Draco sulked beside him on the couch. Severus had been carefully slathering bruise cream onto his cheek only to stiffen suddenly, his ministrations pausing.

"Do not say that word," he snapped out automatically, and Harry blinked at him, eyes wide. Hands shaking slightly, Severus finished applying the paste and wiped his hands on a rag. "It is a cruel, filthy insult directed at those born to Muggle parents. Often spoken between those with pure wizarding blood, it means, simply, 'dirty blood'. No wizard - Muggleborn, half-blood or otherwise - deserves to be called such. And I am disappointed to have heard of you using it, Mr. Malfoy."

Harry could tell the man was angry from the formality forced into his tone. Draco cringed back, eyes cast down sheepishly. "It just slipped out," he muttered in defense. "I didn't mean to make Herm - Granger, that is - cry."

Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of is nose.

"With your father throwing the term about so easily at home, I can understand you uttering it unthinkingly during a emotional moment. However, that does not erase the deed. If you, indeed, feel remorse for your actions, the best course of action now would be apologizing."

At Draco's contorted expression, Severus raised a hand. "While it seems beneath a high-standing Slytherin to do so, it also displays extreme maturity to take responsibility for previous mistakes. Apologize to Miss Granger," he urged. "It is well-known that most Gryffindors are highly forgiving, but do not be surprised if they show a front of stubbornness at first."  _Hopefully, Miss Granger is nothing like Lily at that age,_ he added internally. 

Draco leaned his head back, considering. Harry nudged his side, and Draco scowled. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll apologize. But not in public, mind." 

"Good choice," Severus agreed. "While a public apology would convey complete remorse to those sentimental fools, I don't think you're quite ready for that yet." 

 _"Yet?!"_ Draco said, quirking a brow. 

Severus cracked his first smile of the night. "I know you, Draco. Rebel-rousing is your favorite hobby. But would it be too much to ask for you to put off any more mischief-making for this week, boys? I can only take so much, you know." 

Draco and Harry shared a look. "Even if we were planning something," Harry said slyly. "We certainly wouldn't be telling  _you_ about it." 

After a moment, the older wizard puffed out a breath, leaning back into his chair. "I don't know whether to be exasperated or proud," he muttered.

His boy giggled slightly. "That's kind of the idea," Harry agreed, and Draco snorted. 

The blonde winced at the movement, lifting a hand to his cheek. "Oh. Ow. That hurts." 

* * *

**Mid October**

October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle.

Madam Pomfrey was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Harry was one of the first to be inflicted by the snuffles, although her Pepper-Up Potion worked instantly. While in her clutches, the nurse questioned him on the state of his overall health - she had noticed that he'd gained a few stones since being taken under Severus' wing that Summer.

Harry shyly informed her that he was taking low-level nutrient potions, provided by their resident Potions Master, but his body hadn't quite taken to them yet. He still had several years of neglect to make up for, and magic couldn't fix  _everything_ ; Draco quite accurately predicted that Harry would always be the shortest in their year, although he had finally gained half an inch on Ginny Weasley, who was the smallest first year. 

The newest Weasley - who'd been looking pale herself - had to be bullied into taking some Pepper-Up by her brother, the Gryffindor Prefect. Harry had spotted the girl while in the hospital wing, and the steam pouring from under her vivid hair giving the impression that her whole head was on fire. 

After hesitantly attempting some conversation with the girl, it seemed to Harry that _'articulate'_ was not a word to describe the newest Weasley. 

She stuttered through their entire rapport, nervously casting glances to the Slytherin and blushing fiercely as their eyes met. Harry was highly amused, but was sympathetic to her demure ways; he'd been the same taciturn, nervous mess for most his life. 

Meanwhile, raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end. The lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds. While Harry loved the rain, Flint's enthusiasm for rigorous training sessions (often intersecting with the Gryffindors' practices), however, was not appreciated.

This was why Harry, Draco and Millicent Bulstrode were to be found, late one stormy Saturday afternoon a few days before Halloween, returning to the castle utterly drenched and splattered with mud. Even aside from the rain and wind, it hadn’t been a pleasant session.

Millicent had caught the Weasley twins hiding behind the bleachers, spying on the Slytherin team. When she confronted them, she had instantly been run befoul of a 'prank' hex that caused thick, curly hair to grow rapidly, especially in . . . unfavorable places. Flint, finally fed up with the world, dismissed the three second years.

As Millie fled to the hospital wing, her two friends following behind to insure she didn't hurt herself, Millie's her hair - or fur, rather - became soaked with rain. It trailed behind her for several feet, catching on twigs, mud and leaves. Upon entering the castle, Draco had cast a spell to dry himself and Harry, but he was reluctant to expose the distraught girl to any further magic - often, hidden gimmicks could be found in prank spells, triggered by cleaning spells or banishments. 

As they squelched along the corridors, Millicent making soft noises of distress, they came across somebody who looked just as preoccupied themselves.

Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower, was staring morosely out of a window, muttering under his breath, “ - don’t 'fulfill their requirements', my transparent arse . . . only half an inch, if that - ”

“Hello, Sir Nick,” Harry said nervously, having rarely come in contact with the ethereal being. Although, compared to the Bloody Baron of Slytherin, Nick was far more benign. 

Nearly Headless Nick, started, turning to the trio. “Oh - hello, hello, little snakes.”

He wore a dashing, plumed hat on his long curly hair, and a tunic with a ruff, which concealed the fact that his neck was almost completely severed. He was pale as smoke, and Harry could see right through him to the dark sky and torrential rain outside.

“Oh - my. I do hope you are on your way to the Hospital Wing; you look to be in a right state, mistress Bulstrode,” Nick pointed out, folding a transparent letter as he spoke and tucking it inside his doublet.

Millicent parted her overgrown bangs, scowling. "So do you," she pointed out petulantly.

“Ah,” Nearly Headless Nick waved an elegant hand, taking her sarcasm as concern. “It's matter of no importance -  not as though I really _wanted_ to join. Just thought I’d apply, but apparently I ‘don’t fulfill requirements’ —” He sniffed, a look of great bitterness on his face. “But you would think, wouldn’t you, that getting hit forty-five times in the neck with a blunt axe would qualify you to join the Headless Hunt?” He erupted suddenly, pulling the letter back out of his pocket. 

“Oh, um — yes,” Harry said, obviously expected to agree.

“I mean, nobody wishes more than I do that it had all been quick and clean, and my head had come off properly, I mean, it would have saved me a great deal of pain and ridicule. However —” Nearly Headless Nick shook his letter open and read furiously. As he did so, Draco and Millie slowly inched away, leaving Harry grimacing at the traitors. 

 _“‘We can only accept huntsmen whose heads have parted company with their bodies. You will appreciate that it would be impossible otherwise for members to participate in hunt activities such as Horseback Head-Juggling and Head Polo. It is with the greatest regret, therefore, that I must inform you that you do not fulfill our requirements. With very best wishes, Sir Patrick Delaney-Podmore.’_   _”_

Fuming, Nearly Headless Nick stuffed the letter away. "Half an inch of skin and sinew holding my neck on, Harry!" The boy in hand felt a bit ill. "Most people would think that’s good and beheaded, but oh, no, it’s not enough for Sir 'Properly Decapitated' Podmore.”

Nearly Headless Nick took several deep breaths and then said, in a far calmer tone, “So . . . oh. Where did you friends go? To the hospital wing, I'd hope . . . what _did_ happen to young Bulstrode?" 

Harry sighed. "We were down at the pitch and Millie was targeted by the Weasley twins, and her hair - " he gestured vaguely with his hands. The rest of Harry’s sentence was drowned out by a high-pitched mewling from somewhere near his ankles.

He looked down and found himself gazing into a pair of lamp-like yellow eyes. It was Mrs. Norris, the skeletal gray cat who was used by the caretaker, Argus Filch.

Like most animals, Mrs. Norris couldn't stand Harry. The beast took one sniff of his trainers and her tail went up, a sharp hiss breaking past her jowls. 

“You’d better get out of here, Harry,” Nick said quickly. “Filch isn’t in a good mood. He’s got the flu and some third years 'accidentally' plastered frog brains all over the ceiling in dungeon five. He’s been cleaning all morning, and if he sees the mud trailing all over the place —”

“You're right, thank you, Sir. Nick - ” Harry tried backing away from the accusing stare of Mrs. Norris, but he was clearly not quick enough.

Drawn to the spot by some mysterious power that seemed to connect him with his foul cat, Argus Filch burst suddenly through a tapestry to Harry’s right, wheezing and looking wildly about for the rule-breaker. There was a thick tartan scarf bound around his head, and his nose was unusually purple.

“Filth!” he howled, red-rimmed eyes popping alarmingly as he pointed at the muddy trail leading . . . straight to Harry. Never mind that it disappeared around the corridor where Millie and Draco had abandoned him. “Mess and muck everywhere! I’ve had enough of it, I tell you!"

“Sir, I wasn't the one to trail it in," Harry defended, bolstering what little energy he had left today. "I - I don't know who it was, and if you think blaming innocents will make you feel any better - " He regretted the words almost immediately.  _I spend way too much time with Gryffindors,_ he thought sardonically. 

“Feel better!" Filch shouted, latching onto Harry's arm and yanking him down the stairs. The scrawny man's clench was oddly tight, and Harry had to bite back a hiss of pain. "What would make me _feel_ better is not suffering through another hour of incessant scrubbing! I don't care who did it, I just want some _justice_ _!_ Follow me, Potter!”

* * *

**October 31st, 1992**

Harry almost regretted agreeing to attend Sir. Nick's Death-day party. However, the man _had_ saved him from Filch's wrath and it was the least Harry could do in return - however, after seeing the decaying food and meeting an emotional teenage ghost, Ron, Draco and Hermione no longer found his actions so altruistic. 

“If I could have everyone’s attention, it’s time for my speech!” Nearly Headless Nick said loudly, frantically trying to gain control. He floated toward the podium and climbed in front of a spotlight, waving his hands. “My late lamented lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my great sorrow -”

But nobody heard much more.

Sir Patrick Podmore and the rest of the Headless Hunt had just started a game of Head Hockey and the crowd were turning to watch. Nearly Headless Nick tried vainly to recapture his audience, but gave up as Sir Patrick’s head went sailing past him to loud cheers. The poor ghost looked fit to cry but eventually, he gave out a despondent sigh and went to sulk in the corner. 

Harry, while sympathetic, was very cold by now, not to mention rather hungry.

And he still couldn't shake that eerie, heart-numbing sensation that someone was watching him. Harry glanced back toward Moaning Myrtle as she lie in a peculiar U-bend, thinking he saw a flash of dull crimson. However, it was just another ghost, her once-vibrant red hair pulled into loose curls and decorated with dried blood. 

He swallowed tightly, untold grief tearing through him. 

“I can’t stand much more of this,” Ron muttered, his teeth chattering as the ghosts swept back onto the dance floor, tossing the dismembered heads around like beach balls. 

Draco nodded, tightening his silver-lined robe. “Let’s go, I've seen enough. I don't think it's much for Father to be jealous about." 

Hermione and Harry sighed, eventually agreeing. The quartet backed toward the door, nodding and smiling politely at anyone who looked at them. A minute later they were hurrying back up the passageway, Ron leading the way toward the steps to the entrance hall. “Pudding might not be finished yet,” he told them hopefully. 

It was then, as Harry fought to catch up with his longer-legged friends, that he heard it. 

" - Rip . . . tear . . . _kill . . ._ ”

Harry came to an abrupt halt, heart stuttering. He clutched desperately at the stone wall, quieting his breathing.

“Harry, what’re you — ?”

“Hush, please," Harry whispered, peering around the corridor. "Can't you hear it?"

“ -  _Ssssoo_ hungry, for _ssssoo_ long . . .”

“What _issss_ that?” Harry said beneath his breath, his voice faintly sibilant. Ron, Draco and Hermione to froze in place.

“. . . _kill ._ . . time to _kill!_ ” The voice was growing fainter. Harry was sure it was moving upward.

A mixture of utter terror and desperate curiosity gripped him as he stared at the dark ceiling. "Follow me," he said, dashing up the stairs and into the entrance hall. He sprinted up the marble staircase to the first floor, the two confused Gryffindors and a highly concerned Slytherin trailing behind him.

“Harry, what’re we —”

“Quiet!” Harry hissed, straining his neck to watch the walls. 

From the floor above and growing fainter still, he heard the voice: ". . . _I ssssmell blood!"_  

His stomach lurched in fear. “ _It’sssss_ going to kill _ssssomeone_!” he gasped, ignoring his friend’s bewildered faces.

Harry ran up the next flight of steps three at a time, trying to listen over his own pounding footsteps. He hurtled around the whole of the second floor, not halting until they had turned a corner into the last, deserted passage.

“Harry, what was that all about?” Ron panted, wiping sweat off his face. “We don't understand - ”

Hermione gave a sudden gasp, pointing down the corridor. "Look!" Her face paled drastically. “Oh no - is that . . . blood?"

They approached slowly, Draco and Hermione flicking their wands to illuminate the corridor.

Stopping in front of the gruesome art piece, Harry collapsed to the ground, something unidentifiable churning in his stomach. Was it fear? Was it guilt? Perhaps a bit of both. 

Maybe - maybe if he'd run a bit faster, Hermione wouldn't be dry-heaving in the corridor and Draco wouldn't be shakily dragging Harry's head into his shoulder, protecting the smaller boy from unseen horrors. "Bloody hell," Ron murmured, looking rather sick himself, as foot-high words had been daubed on the wall between two windows, shimmering dark red in the light cast by the flaming torches. Each letter was written in majuscule and dripping with blood. 

Harry's vision blurring intensely, he shakily asked Draco to read the message aloud. 

 _"The Chamber of Secrets has Been Opened,"_    Draco read in a grave voice, body trembling. His silver eyes went wide as he finished, genuine fear lancing through him. 

_"Enemies of the Heir . . . Beware."_

* * *

**_To be continued . . ._ **


	7. Ophidian: Seven

**Ophidian**

_(adj. relating to or denoting snakes.) **  
**_

**A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover ** **  
**

**Part 5 of the _Amalgamation Series_**

by _Tannin & Tele_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters._

. . .

 **_Warnings:_ ** _Chapter may include mentions of child abuse, child neglect, mild language and depictions of violence._

_The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's._

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

. . .

**November 4th, 1992**

"I always knew Salazar Slytherin was a twisted old loony," Ron spat out after Hermione had informed Draco and Harry of their uncharacteristically informative History of Magic lesson."But I never knew he started all this pureblood stuff. I wouldn't - " the redhead bit off his next words as Draco leveled him a glare, as if predicting his next words.

"Salazar Slythern," Draco said slowly, stalking through the halls. "Was a powerful, intelligent, and highly respected wizard. What Binns told you is all just tosh, the truth warped by bias over the centuries," he lectured, sounding quite like his father. "While it's true Slytherin didn't particularly _like_ muggle-borns, he wouldn't have dared kill any qualified witch or wizard - even now, we're a rare enough breed! Oh, and have you even thought about the circumstances of that day and age? Muggleborns came from Muggle villages, where illness and illiteracy ran rampant. Of course Slytherin was 'selective'. Who would want _that_ befouling their school?" At Hermione's sharp look, he sent her an apologetic look. 

The girl sighed, eyes squinted thoughtfully. "But what about the supposed monster in the Chamber of Secrets? Why else keep such a dangerous beast in a school?"

Harry snorted, tucking a piece of hair back. "Should've asked that last year, Hermione. Or don't you remember Fluffy?"

"Perfect example," Draco agreed. "Fluffy was there to protect the Stone, and Slytherin's monster was likely there to protect the students. None of this 'purging' business."

Ron grumbled, but kept his opinion to himself as they broke through the crowds. Just then, Colin Creevey came barreling past.

"Hiya, Harry!" the boy said.

"Hello, Colin," Harry sighed, the greeting almost automatic.

"Oh - Harry, Harry! I wanted to tell you! A boy in my class has been saying you're -" However, Draco was impatient. He yanked his friend away, leaving Colin to be swept by the crowd. "Oh, um, bye Harry!" he called out.

"What's a boy in his class saying about you?" Hermione wondered aloud.

"That I'm Slytherin's heir, I expect," Harry frowned, stomach clenching as he remembered the way Justin Finch-Fletchley had run away from him at lunchtime.

"Ugh, People here'll believe anything," Ron said in disgust. The crowd thinned and they were able to climb the next staircase without difficulty. "D'you really think there's a Chamber of Secrets?" Ron asked Hermione.

"I don't know," she said, hating herself for that fact. "Dumbledore couldn't cure Mrs. Norris, and that makes me think that whatever attacked her might not be - well - human. I'll have to go to the library and see what creatures are capable of petrification. Perhaps it's some sort of venomous creature. "As she spoke, they turned a corner and found themselves at the end of the very corridor where the attack had happened.

Some visceral pull urged them to pause, countenances going green. The scene was just as it had been _that_ _night_ , except that there was no stiff cat hanging from the torch bracket and an empty chair stood against the wall bearing the message: _The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened._

"That's where Filch has been keeping guard," Ron wrung his hands. 

Draco cleared his throat, dropping his bag. "I say we look around," he said, sounding more confident than he felt. Hermione made a faint sound of protest, but seeing Harry and Ron follow his lead, she couldn't help but concede.

"Scorch marks!" Harry mused. "Here, and here - do you know any creatures that breath fire?"

The Malfoy scion raised a hand. "Dragons, obviously."

Ron blanched. "I hope to Merlin that Hagrid hasn't brought in another."

"You're all idiots, you know that? Now, come and look at this!" Hermione beckoned. "It's rather odd . . ."

She was pointing at the topmost pane of a nearby window, where around twenty spiders were scuttling, apparently fighting to get through a small crack. A long, silvery thread was dangling like a rope, as though they had all climbed it in their hurry to get outside. "Have you ever seen spiders act like that?" Hermione said, peering curiously at the trail.

"I saw a lot of spiders at the Dursleys, and I've never seen them so . . . panicked. Have you, Draco? Ron?" Harry glanced over his shoulder. Ron was standing well away from the window, wearing a contorted expression, as if fighting the impulse to run.

"I, I don't really like s - spiders," Ron stammered, body tense.

"I never knew that," said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. "You've used spiders in Potions loads of times."

"I don't mind them _dead!_ " He scowled. "I just don't like the way they move, with all those spindly legs. And if you must know, when I was three, Fred turned my — my teddy bear into a great big filthy spider because I broke his toy broomstick. You wouldn't like them either if you'd been holding your bear and suddenly it had too many legs and . . .ugh!" He broke off, shuddering. Hermione was obviously still trying not to laugh, while Draco had gained a spectacularly mischievous smirk.

Deciding they'd better get off the subject, Harry tapped his lip. "Remember all that water on the floor, just about there? Filch must've mopped it up."

Ron, shaking himself, followed Harry's gaze. It led to a firmly closed door, and he reached for the brass doorknob only to withdraw as though he'd been burned.

"What's the matter _now?_ Spotted a spider on the doorknob?" Draco sneered, impatient.

The Gryffindor growled. "Shut it, you. And we can't go in there - that's a girls' toilet."

"As well-meaning as your delicate sensibilities are, Ron, they're unnecessary. Dudley used to shove me into the girl's loo all the time, and I never received any ill effects. Well, a bit of public humiliation, perhaps, but that just builds character." Harry smirked, coming over. "Lucky for us, it's abandoned; that's where Moaning Myrtle's lives, right, 'Mione?"

The girl nodded. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

Ignoring the large out of order sign, they opened the door, which creaked ominously.

It was the gloomiest, most depressing bathroom Harry had ever set foot in. Under a large, cracked, and spotted mirror were a row of chipped sinks; the floor was damp and reflected the dull light given off by the stubs of a few candles, burning low in their holders. The wooden doors to the stalls were flaking and scratched and one of them was dangling off its hinges.

Hermione put her fingers to her lips and set off toward the end stall. Harry followed, trotting behind his friend, who opened the door carefully. Moaning Myrtle, in all her ethereal glory, was floating above the tank of the toilet, picking a spot on her chin. "Hello, Myrtle, how are you?" Hermione said kindly.

Draco and Ron crept behind warily, earning a suspicious look from Myrtle. "This is a girls' bathroom," she pointed out the obvious. "And they're not girls."

"No," Hermione agreed. "Harry and I just wanted to show them how - er - nice it is in here."

Harry nudged Hermione, speaking beneath his breath. "What are you whispering?" Myrtle snapped, staring at him.

Harry shrinked nervously under her blue-grey stare. "We just wanted to ask about - "

"I wish people would stop talking behind my back!" Myrtle spat, in a voice choked with tears. "I _do_ have feelings, you know, even if I am _dead!_ "

"Myrtle, no one wants to upset you," Hermione soothed. "We only —"

"No one _wants_ to upset me! That's a good one!" Myrtle laughed sharply. "My life was nothing but utter misery at this place, and now people come along _ruining_ my death!"

"We only wanted to ask you if you've seen anything suspicious lately, other than three boys in the girl's bathroom, that is." Draco interrupted quickly. "A cat was attacked right outside your front door on Halloween, and we were curious if you happened to see anything."

Myrtle pursed her lips. "I wasn't paying attention," she admitted. "Peeves upset me so much I came in here and tried to kill myself." Harry flinched. "Then, of course, I remembered th . . . that I'm - "

"Already dead," said Ron helpfully. Three glares settled on him, burning into his back.

Myrtle gave a loud, tragic sob and dived headfirst into the toilet, vanishing from sight. Hermione pinched her nose. "Honestly, that was almost cheerful for Myrtle. But that was completely insensitive of you, Ronald," she scolded. "Poor girl's in an eternal state of distraught, the least you could do is show a bit forethought before speaking your mind."

Draco snorted. "Good luck with that, Weasel. Come on, let's get out of here. I've got old toilet water all over my robes."

The four students had barely closed the door on Myrtle's gurgling sobs when a loud voice made all three of them jump.

"Ronald!" Percy Weasley had stopped dead at the head of the stairs, prefect badge agleam, an expression of complete shock on his face. "That's a _girls_ ' bathroom!" he gasped. "What were you - ?"

Ron blanched. "Uh, we were - um. Having a look around, you know. For clues."

Percy swelled in a manner that reminded Harry forcefully of Mrs. Weasley as she was about to give the twins a mouthful. "Get _away_ from there!" Percy yanked Ron by the year, tugging him along. "Don't you even _care_ what this looks like? Coming back here while everyone's at dinner, bad enough hanging about with two _Slytherins -"_

Said Slytherins simultaneously sent the prefect dangerous looks. "Why shouldn't we be here?" Ron said hotly, yanking away to glare at Percy. "We never laid a _finger_ on that mangy cat, and while I can't say the same for Draco, Harry wouldn't hurt a fly!"

That was stretching the truth a bit, and even Percy knew it. The Boy-Who-Lived winced a bit, remembering his act of homicide the previous year.

"Well - he - that's what I told Ginny," Percy said fiercely, "But she still seems to think you're going to be expelled, and you know how much she worships _him,_ " he jerked his head towards the smallest Slytherin, who blushed. "If news got out that you four were hanging around the crime scene, she'd be horrified! I've never seen her so upset, crying her eyes out, blubbering about Mrs. Norris and the blood. You might as well think of her and all other the first years, so thoroughly overexcited by this business."

"You don't care about Ginny," Ron spat, his ears now matching the red on his tie. "You're just worried I'm going to mess up your chances of being Head Boy. _P_ _erfect Percy,_ always so worried about your bloody _reputation -_ "

"Go for it, Ron," Draco muttered under his breath.

"Five points from Gryffindor for disrespect!" Percy snapped, sounding every bit like their Potion's Master on a bad day. "And _ten_ from Slytherin " he hissed, causing Draco to scowl at the unfairness of it all. "Merlin knows what influence those two have have on you, Ronald. And I hope this teaches you all a lesson! No more _detective work_! I'll write to Mum, you know I will!" As his younger brother opened his mouth, face burning, Percy stuck a finger in his face.

"Not another word, Ronald. Now get to class, and bloody well _stay there,"_ he warned, before turning on his heel and stalking away.

The hallways was silent for a beat, before Draco let out a long whistle. "I don't think I've ever met such a bigoted arse in my life - and that's saying a lot. What's his name again? There's far too many of you Weasleys, I always forget."

"I don't blame you," Ronald mumbled, shouldering his bag. "I spend a lot of time trying to forget him, too."

. . .

**November 7th, 1992**

_(Everything was oddly blurred, as though Harry was watching everything occur from afar._

_Faceless persons screamed and roared, flashes of green and burning red soaring above him. Wind whipped through his long black hair, and Harry was swept up in the current. He was on a broom, fingers clenching tight to the smooth wood as the crowd cheered him on._

_He surged forward, and before long, a gold ball was glinting from within his clenched hand._ _Just as victory filled his chest, a comet-like object shot across a darkened sky and sparks danced before his eyes. The sensation of panic entered him, and Harry struggled to land, feeling slightly woozy._ _An orb of darkness shot down at him, once, then twice,_ _before a blinding light flashed - spell fire? - and the air sizzled with electricity._

_From the oblivion of white, a dark figure stepped forward, blue eyes sparkling._

_As Harry opened his mouth to say something - anything - to the familiar stranger, e_ _verything went black.)_

Moments later, Harry awoke, feeling boneless all the way from his nose to his toes. He was incoherent for a few moments, breathing heavily. Finally gaining control of his extremities, the wizard grapple for his wand, casting a hasty _Tempus_ spell.

It was very early Saturday morning and as he lie in bed, a dreadful anticipation filled him.

The thought of what Flint would say if Slytherin lost to a group of bloody _Gryffindors_ terrified Harry, but less so than the dream he had that night. Even now, the dream threatened to fade away, but it left him with a distinct feeling of trepidation.

After half an hour of lying there with his insides churning, he got up and went down to breakfast early. Unfortunately, he was the only Slytherin awake, but it seemed that the Gryffindors weren't sleeping well, either. Sensing a bit of hostility in their gazes as he passed their table, Harry veered quickly toward his own.

Meanwhile, Severus - ever an early bird - was reading the _Daily Prophet_ up at the Head Table.

_**Ministry of Magic Affairs, page 09** _

**Obliviators Question Recently-Passed _Muggle Protection Act_ by Augustus Fenetre**

_Due to an overabundance of wizarding artefacts found in Muggle thrift shops and antiquaries -_   _occasionally_ _resulting in dismembered limbs and incurably green-colored skin - the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts_ _recently proposed a bylaw that was presumably designed to protect hapless Muggles from potentially harmful magical artefacts._

 _Many members of the Ministry demanded the eradication of this act, claiming it's viability was little to none._ _Arnold Peasegood of the Obliviation department, for one, questions the Act's ramifications._

 _"_ _Obliviators are already up in arms erasing evidence of accidental magic and breaking of the_ Statute of Security," _Peasegood tells your_ Daily Prophet _reporter._ _"There are simply not enough of us qualified to go out and track every lost magical artefact and . . . 'take care' of the Muggles involved. You are simply asking too much of us!"_

_At this point, Peasagood is too flustered to continue the interview, but his intern, Lola Mneme, was all too willing to take his place._

_While Mneme agrees that protecting the Muggles is wise, she claims there is no way to control the situation without serious exertion involved. "It's utterly ridiculous, that's what it is. I only became an Obliviator 'cause my daddy works only a few levels up. I didn't think it'd be this much work! You know, Muggles are real idiots. They shouldn't be sticking their nose into our things, but wizards can be so careless, too. Did you hear about that flying car? How crazy was that?"_

Severus scoffed, banishing the drivel from his sight. The Ministry only cared about the exhausting  _effort_ it took to protect the Muggles, never mind the true danger their carelessness was to innocent Muggles. 

Now that his attention was free, Severus caught sight of his favorite student, sitting despondently at the empty Slytherin table. The boy was rubbing at his scar compulsively, although Severus highly doubted Harry even noticed. Warily watching the other teachers - primarily Sprout and Flitwick who were early-risers as well - the dour Potion's Master took one last sip of his tea before slipping away. He casually approached his ward, towering over the small boy and clearing his throat. "Professor?" Harry said in surprise, looking up from his uneaten porridge.

Severus smiled discretely at the boy, and took from within his pocket a slim vial of light blue-green liquid.

"I do hope you're ready for the game," Severus said boredly, setting the bottle beside Harry's orange juice. "But in the case you're a bit . . . anxious, I hoped this would assist." Harry unstopped the bottle, sniffing it slightly. Severus smirked approvingly.

"Peppermint?" Harry said in surprise. "But it looks like a Calming Draught, which is usually sweet-smelling from the, ah - _passiflora in . . . incarnata._ Right?"

"Correct," Severus said swiftly. "As you noticed, I've made a slight variation from the usual Calming Draught, making it less of a muscle-relaxer and more of a stomach-soother." The man eyed Harry's thin figure and his uneaten breakfast. "You look like you need it."

Harry blushed brightly, but thanked the man profusely, downing the vial. As Severus went back to the Head Table, Harry found himself with a renewed appetite. As he applied cinnamon to his porridge with a new-found ardor, soft chatter erupted from the previously silent Gryffindor table.

"What did Snape slip the whelp?" Oliver Wood frowned darkly, tapping his wand against the table. "It didn't look like anything I recognize."

Angelina Johnson snorted, taking a half-hearted bite of her eggs. "You're nearly failing Potions, Ollie, of course you wouldn't recognize it. It looked a bit blue, though. Maybe it was a Calming Draught? Wish I could have that. Now stop worrying and eat your damn bacon, Wood, I can't stand anymore of your bellyaching."

. . .

As eleven o'clock approached, the whole school started to make its way down to the Quidditch stadium.

It was a muggy sort of day, with a hint of thunder in the air. Ron and Hermione came hurrying over to Harry and Draco as they entered the locker rooms, although Ron looked far more reluctant to wish them luck.

The team pulled on their emerald Slytherin robes, waiting nervously for Flint's inevitable tongue-lashing. "Slytherin has better brooms than those arsewipes," he began. "Slytherin's got the better athletes, the better wizards, and the better Captain. We're going to make those filthy, sniveling ingrates _suffer,_ understood? We are going to _win,_ and if you fail me - " Flint leveled them each with nasty glares. "You won't be playing the next game, one way or another." He cracked his knuckles. Everyone got the message.

They broke out onto the field, the older students taking the lead, and a roar of noise greeted them. Heckles and boos came from three of the four houses, but Slytherin made their pride known through well-placed _Sonorus_ charms and large, shining silver and green banners.

Madam Hooch, the Quidditch coach, asked Flint and Wood to shake hands. Flint and Wood gripped each other's hands a bitter harder than necessary, leaving them both with sore hands and raised hackles. "On my whistle," Hooch called out. "Three. Two. One!"

Her shrill whistle was drowned out by shouts from the crowd, and the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch. His eyes shone with an eerie light, and he glided through the air, graceful as a swan. A faint thrill entered him, the wind whipping around his head in an odd tempest. "All right there, Harry?" Draco shouted from his designated Hoop, doing idle corkscrews around the opening as if showing off his skills.

Harry, however, had no time to reply.

At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

"You've got to watch for those!" Millicent reminded, streaking past him, club in hand. Sucking in a breath, Millicent powerfully aimed the Bludger towards a Gryffindor Chaser, but the Bludger changed direction midair. Shooting past the other players, it missed Harry by inches as he hastily dropped to avoid it.

This time, a Gryffindor player caught a hold of it, mercifully aiming it away from the young Slytherin. Fred Weasley swore as the Bludger arched back over him, and like a blur, it aimed for Harry's head. Terror shooting through him, Harry angled sharply away and fled from that corner. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him, and was reminded of a comet flying through the darkening skies. 

In the stands, Severus had conjured a pair of slim silver binoculars, watching his Seeker closely, concernedly. Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible.

Terrence Higgs was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry ducked as the blonde swung his bat, shooting the Bludger off course. "Are you okay?" Terrence asked Harry breathlessly. Harry was unable to respond, as it seemed the Bludger was magnetically attracted to him.

It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face, slipping like tears down his cheeks. He hadn't an inkling how the game was going until he heard the commentator, Lee Jordan - friend of Cormac McLaggen - say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero -"

Harry internally cheered, before squeaking as the rogue Bludger dropped towards him. Millicent and Terrence were flagging him on either side, desperately keeping their Seeker from getting hit. "It's been tampered with," Millicent gasped out, jerking forward as the Bludger launched a new attack on Harry.

"We need time out," Terrence said reasonably, although his voice was tense.

Harry highly doubted Flint would let them take a recess, but sure enough, a minute or so later Harry, Terry and Millie were beckoned down.

"What in the _hell_ are you thinking? There's another ball out there, Higgs, and we need one of you to keep it away from us!" Flint growled, jabbing a finger in Terry's chest. The usually level-headed blonde's expression went stony. 

"This past month, you've instilled within us to be attentive, defensive and alert, Flint, and only a blind man can ignore that!" He gestured at Millie, who was frantically smacking the Bludger from their Seeker. Harry looked deathly pale under the pitch lights, and he seemed to be disappearing in his slightly too-large Quidditch robes.

"It's not an easy thing to be fifty feet above the ground, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Flint," Millie said angrily. "Someone's clearly bewitched it — it won't leave Harry alone, and if we leave him, he might very well get knocked off his broom, or worse!"

"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office, haven't they? No one could've got to them." Draco sounded, coming around to pull Harry towards him.

The three older Slytherins snorted simultaneously. "Hooch is basically a Squib," Graham Montague said bluntly. "She's only got enough magic to ride a broom, and can't cast a single ward to save her life. Her office is painfully easy to break into," he informed, smirking at his friends.

"And you've experience with that?" Millicent said dubiously, crossing her arms. Graham sneered at her, but remained silent as Hooch crossed the pitch, stalking towards them.

"Listen," Harry finally said. His voice was a bit jittery, but otherwise firm with determination. "With you two blocking me, the only feasible way I'm going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one."

"Don't be a nitwit," Draco snapped. "It'll decapitate you!"

Flint, however, was considering it. "No, Flint, this is _insane_ ," Terrence spat. "You can't just throw him to the wolves - or, lions, in this case. Ask for an inquiry - "

Harry sighed. "As much as I'd rather _not_ die in such a humiliating fashion, if we stop now, we'll have to forfeit.

"The Gryffindors will just call us cowards if we forfeit now," Montague agreed. "And we're  _so_ close." They looked to the scoreboard by the commentator's booth, the numbers lit up in the darkness. 

Draco scowled. "So much for self-preservation, you selfish bastards," he muttered, pleased that the captain was unable to retaliate due to Madam Hooch's appearance.

"Ready to resume play?" she asked Flint.

"Always," Flint said fiercely, earning several glares. "Higgs, Bulstrode, you heard our Seeker. If he wants to handle the Bludger on his own, we'll let him. And, Potter," Flint stepped closer, leaning down to hiss in the smaller boy's ear "If the Bludger does kill you before you catch the Snitch, I will bring you back to life and _murder_ you myself. Understood?"

Harry swallowed harshly, nodding. Draco dragged him into a quick hug, whispering "Good luck, Harry," before darting off towards the hoops.

The rain was falling more heavily now, and as Harry pushed off, he felt . . . well, a bit shitty, actually. However, the rain cooled his skin and soothed his muscles, reminding him that the sooner he caught the Snitch, the sooner he could be in front of a roaring fire. Hearing the telltale whoosh of the Bludger behind him, Harry climbed higher. Gliding through the air, he did a series of complex maneuvers, hoping to shake the damn ball off his trail.

Slightly breathless, he kept eyes wide open, green orbs nearly visible in the darkness. He shot around the edges of the stadium, searching through the silver sheets of rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past Wood.

A whistling in Harry's ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction. Thunder and lightning had began, the sharp bolts of light gathering just above their heads. A distant player screamed as light shot out in front of them, tearing a gash into the pitch.

Some thin brunette was playing Seeker for the Gryffindors, and he looked quite amused by Harry's antics. Harry scowled as the boy leered at him; just then, the Slytherin Seeker saw it — the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above the other Seeker's large left ear.

For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed toward the boy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch. Unfortunately, as he pondered his next move, Harry missed seeing the Bludger come from his peripheral vision. He gasped out as the Bludger reached him at last, bludgeoning into his elbow.

Sparks danced before Harry's eyes as a sharp pain seared through him. Dazed by the pain, he slipped slightly, his injured right arm dangling uselessly at his side. The Gryffindor's eyes were wide as this occurred, and he seemed to be a little ill. 

Some part of Harry decided, without his violation, that _this was his chance._ Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: the Gryffindor thought Harry was attacking him. If Harry was in any such state of mind, he'd have laughed.

Face contorting with pain, Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch. Harry hastily grappled for his broom as he slipped, and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable. Thunder crashed in the distance, as if calling out to him.

There were shouts all around as he fell.

Or, rather, floated.

A cushion of air seemed to mold around him, and Harry fluttered feet from the ground, his robes flapping. The tempest was wet and cold, but it somehow invigorated him, keeping Harry alert enough to keep from passing out. His breathing was hard as he approached the ground, wonder and confusion breaking past the delirious pain. 

Wincing as the sharp gust settled him to the grass, Harry rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a strange angle indeed, but familiar too - it reminded Harry darkly of his time at the Dursleys. Riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of shouts and cheers.

He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand. "Brilliant," he said hysterically. "We've won."

Just then, a shot of black came from the sky, jolting toward him. "Dear god _(s),_ " he moaned, forcing himself to jerk away as the Bludger pounded into the soil beneath him. Several more screams sounded as a crowd of people flooded from the skies and the stands, the elder folks fumbling for their wands.

Severus reached his first, shooting a spell out at the Bludger. _"Immobulus!"_ he snapped out, the blue stream of light missing the Bludger by inches. He swore, and shot out two others in quick succession. The Bludger was a quick little blighter, and Harry was clearly becoming worse with every dodge.

 _"Bombarda!"_ Severus said through gritted teeth, just as the ball came down. Simultaneously, Harry lifted his good hand, desperation pouring out through his pores.

The spell sailed right over them, but it was no matter, as a bolt of sizzling light shot out from the rolling clouds and struck the Bludger dead-on, the bits and pieces flying. The air sizzled and writhed with energy, and Harry felt incredibly warm all over.

A great silence fell, and within seconds, Severus had swooped towards his ward. Harry was gasping out little sobs, his muddy cheeks streaked with tears. "I didn't mean to," Harry cried out, have trouble taking in breath. "I didn't mean it!" he said deliriously.

"You didn't mean to what, child?" Severus soothed, wrapping his robe around the shivering boy.

Harry choked on his tears, pain clear in his emerald eyes. "The lightnin'," he stammered, voice small. "I didn't mean it."

Severus dismissed his words. "I know, it's not your fault. Accidental Magic is all, we'll talk about it later. Let's get you to the hospital wing."

"Oh, not to worry, Harry, Severus," Lockhart said from behind them, a strange smile on his face. "I can fix your arm,"

Draco, breaking out from the crowd, bared his teeth at the man. "Absolutely not, you useless - "

" - Draco Malfoy!" Hermione whipped towards him, damp hair flying. Ron appeared behind her, his robes held up over his head.

"Is Harry okay?" The ginger said, worrying his bottom lip. "That was some impressive magic, that was."

"Really, Severus, there's no need to get defensive! It's a simple charm I've used countless times, " Lockhart was assuring Severus, who seemed to be quickly loosing his patience. "Just stand back," Lockhart declared, rolling up his jade-green sleeves.

Severus stood up abruptly, clenching his teeth. He held Harry bridal-style, the boy weighing far less than any boy his age. "Enough of this," the wizard hissed. "If you don't get out of my way, Lockhart - "

 _"Watch out, sir!"_ Millicent shouted from afar, where she had been replacing the second Bludger into it's container. Slipping from her hands, it shot through the air, surprisingly not towards Harry, but at Lockhart. Thank Merlin for small miracles.

Before the ball could get far, Hermione had whipped out her wand, immobilizing it much like she had the Cornish Pixies.

With the Potion's Master's attention briefly diverted, Lockhart twirled his wand and a second later, had directed it straight at Harry's arm. A strange and unpleasant sensation started at Harry's shoulder and spread all the way down to his fingertips. It felt as though his arm was being deflated.

Gasping in surprise, Harry nearly rolled out of Severus' arms. The man looked down at him in barely concealed horror as the arm flopped to the side, dangling down like a loose sausage. Harry didn't dare look at what was happening. Good news was, his arm didn't hurt anymore — nor did it feel remotely like an arm.

"Ah," Lockhart coughed, looking a bit sheepish. "Yes. Well, that can sometimes happen. But the point is, the bones are no longer broken, and that's the thing to bear in mind. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey or our esteemed Potion's Master will be able to — er — tidy you up a bit."

Severus looked nearly murderous. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry glanced down at his right side. Poking out of the end of his robes was what looked like a thick, flesh-colored rubber glove. He tried to move his fingers, but to no avail. "Bloody hell," Ron had muttered, and Hermione was too shocked to scold him.

Harry felt really quite sick by now. 

Lockhart hadn't mended Harry's bones; he had removed them.

* * *

**_To be continued . . ._ **


	8. Ophidian: Eight

**Ophidian**

_(adj. relating to or denoting snakes.) **  
**_

**A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover ** **  
**

**Part 5 of the _Amalgamation Series_**

by _Tannin & Tele_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters._

. . .

 **_Warnings:_ ** _Chapter may include mentions of child abuse, child neglect, mild language and depictions of violence._

_The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's._

**_A/N:_ ** _Many readers have been wondering when the true Percy Jackson interaction will come in._

_To answer your questions, in Harry's third year shit will most certainly hit the fan and due to some divine intervention, Harry is sent . . . you guessed it, to Camp Half-Blood. It's a very slow moving plot and I apologize for that, but knowing Harry's backstory is essential to his character development and it's also damn fun to write._

_If you have any further questions, concerns or suggestions, don't hesitate to review!_

_Enjoy._

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

. . .

**November 7th, 1992**

Madam Pomfrey wasn’t much pleased, and she might has well have joined the club. “You should have come straight to me!” she raged, cradling the sad, limp remainder of what - a half hour before - had been a working arm. “I can mend bones in a second, but growing them _back -_ ” the women glanced toward the ceiling, as if asking for patience. 

Severus sneered at her, needing to expel some anger. "It wasn't the boy's fault," he informed Poppy gruffly. "It was that sorry excuse for a Defense teacher who did the deed. 'Accomplished wizard', my left arse-cheek."  

The nurse looked scandalized, while Harry let out a breathless little giggle.

"Crude language aside," she pressed on, shuffling Harry onto a bed. "I'd have thought you, of all people, would've put Lockhart in his place. That man has sent more students to my wing in the past few months than even old Professor Irdman Scibble - remember him, Severus?"

The Potion's Master curled his lip. "With his penchant for dueling underage students? Of course I remember."

Poppy snorted inelegantly. "Even as a student, you showed him up on more than one occasion, didn't you? Perhaps you could do the same with Lockhart." 

"Why, Nurse Pomfrey," Severus arched an eyebrow. "Are you giving me  _permission_ to land that man in intensive care?" 

The nurse just huffed. "I wouldn't go quite that far, Severus. Now, young Harry; let's see about fixing that arm up, why don't we?" 

“You will be able to, though - the bones will grow back?”  Harry asked desperately.

“I’ll be able to, certainly, but it will be painful,” Madam Pomfrey said grimly, tossing Harry a pair of stiff pajamas. "I'm afraid you’ll have to stay the night.”

. . . 

When curfew had struck, in too much pain to be proper company, Harry insisted that his Head of House return to the dungeons to sleep.

Severus was looking quite haggard from that day's events, and Harry put on a smile, trying to assure the man of his returning health. His guardian reluctantly acquiesced, placing a lasting kiss on Harry's forehead. "I will return in the morning," Severus promised, his voice laden with both exhaustion and fondness. Harry nodded, fighting back a wince as his arm burned. 

The door shut soundlessly behind Severus, and the hospital wing went dark.

All alone, Harry felt a bit nervous, watching as the shadows shifted in an unnerving fashion. Eventually, he fell into a restless sleep, his dreams wrought with images of flying Bludgers and flashes of lightning. 

Hours later, the boy woke quite suddenly in the pitch blackness and gave out a hiss of pain. His arm now felt as though large splinters were puncturing it, making his skin prickle in irritation. Feeling a drop of wetness on forehead, Harry realized that someone was sponging his forehead in the dark. 

“What the - Dobby!” Harry gasped, jerking away as two green orbs peered down at him.

“Harry Potter is injured,” the elf whispered, teary. “Harry Potter did not listen to Dobby." 

Harry pushed Dobby’s sponge away. "What - why . . . why are you upset?" he forced out, voice gentle. 

A pale lip trembled in the darkness. "After . . . after bringing Harry Potter to the wizard hospital, Dobby thought Harry Potter was safe! Dobby could not check on Harry Potter, even when he f . . . _freed_ Dobby from his old masters!" his voice went up excitedly. "Dobby works in the kitchens now, for one galleon per week! He is kept very busy, and he was so shocked when he heard Harry Potter was back at Hogwarts, where it is _unsafe,_ " he whispered the word furiously.  “Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make - ”

“ _Your_ Bludger?” Harry interrupted. "I can't believe it. You almost _killed_ me, Dobby!" 

“Not kill you, sir, never kill you!” the elf squeaked. “Dobby wants to save Harry Potter’s life! Better sent somewhere safe, grievously injured, than remain here, sir! Dobby only wanted Harry Potter hurt enough to be sent away!” 

Harry scowled fiercely. "Sent where? I can't go back to Spinner's End without Severus. Or do you expect me to go crawling back to my relatives, where they'd be more likely to kick me while I'm down? Honestly, Dobby, I freed you from the Malfoys - what more could you possibly  _want?_ " 

"Harry Potter is in danger," Dobby stressed, pulling on his ears. "Oh,  if Harry Potter only knew! Dobby remembers how it was when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was at the height of his powers, sir! We house-elves were treated like vermin, but mostly, life has improved for my kind. Harry Potter survived the Dark Lord's attacks, and the Dark Lord’s power was broken. It was a new dawn, sir, and Harry Potter shone like a beacon of hope for those of us who thought the Dark days would never end.

"B - but now, at Hogwarts, terrible things are to happen, are perhaps happening already. And Dobby cannot let Harry Potter stay here now that history is to repeat itself, now that the Chamber of Secrets is open once more  - ” Dobby froze, horror struck.

“So there really is a Chamber of Secrets?” Harry whispered. “And it's been opened before?" 

Dobby wrung his hands, trembling. “Ask no more, ask no more of poor Dobby,” stammered the elf, his eyes huge in the dark. “Dark deeds are planned in this place, but Harry Potter must not be here when they happen — go home, Harry Potter, go _home_. Harry Potter must not meddle in this, sir, ’tis too dangerous. The monster has awoken from the Chamber, and is hurting annoying beasties and little boys - oh no, _bad_ Dobby!"

"Little boys - who else has been hurt, Dobby?! Who else?" Harry hissed urgently, grabbing the elf's tiny hands within his own. 

The elf opened his mouth to speak, before his ears quivered. 

There were footsteps coming down the passageway outside, and a loud crack startled Harry. Where Dobby once stood was nothing but thin air. Harry made a short, frustrated noise, before ducking under the blankets as the door opened. 

In the next moment, Dumbledore was backing into the dormitory, wearing a long woolly dressing gown and a nightcap. Clenched between two bony hands was one end of what looked like a statue, with Professor McGonagall carrying its feet.

“Get Madam Pomfrey,” Dumbledore whispered, heaving the figure onto a cot. 

Harry lay quite still, controlling his breathing.

Moments later, Professor McGonagall swept back into view, closely followed by Madam Pomfrey, who was pulling a cardigan on over her nightdress. She took a sharp intake of breath, hurrying to inspect the being. “What happened?” Madam Pomfrey whispered to Dumbledore, wand flicking about to check it's vitals. 

“Another attack,” Dumbledore sighed. “Minerva found him on the stairs.”

“T . . . there was a bunch of grapes next to him,” McGonagall choked out. “We think he was trying to sneak up here to visit Potter.”

Harry's heart leaped. Carefully, he raised himself up so he could look at the figure on the bed. A ray of moonlight lay across its staring face, curly blonde hair glowing. It was that little Gryffindor boy, Colin Creevey, and he was frozen in terror. His eyes were wide and his hands were stuck up in front of him, holding his camera aloft as if about to snap a picture.Harry swallowed down a choked sob.

It was only just that day that he'd seen Colin, so thrilled at the prospect of seeing his 'hero' riding a broom and winning the match.

Poppy pressed two fingers to his throat, sighing. "Petrified?" 

“Yes,” McGonagall confirmed, voice tremulous. “But I shudder to think what might have happened if left for any longer. I - I heard something strange, like a rustling in the walls. I do hope we haven't another infestation of those nasty spiders.”

Dumbledore shook his head. "You know Hagrid was innocent, Minerva! However, I wonder if the boy managed to get a picture of his _real_ attacker?” He pried the camera from Colin's frigid grip and opened the back of the camera. A jet of steam hissed out, the acrid smell of burnt plastic filling the stale air. 

“What does this mean, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked despondently, placing a hand on Colin's head of curls. 

A few moments later, the Headmaster answered, voice terribly grim.

“It appears that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed opened again; and this time, the culprit won't be so easily discovered.”

* * *

**Mid November to Early December, 1992**

"I can't believe that idiot got away with hurting you! Father says that Dumbledore _refused_ to sack Lockhart, claiming it was 'a simple mistake'. 'Simple' is an understatement!" Draco raged. "Honestly, that idiot can't tell a healing charm from a hex!"

The group of second-years were studying before the fire, most of them ignoring Draco's ranting like it was second nature. As the blonde stalked across the common room, Harry watched on from the couch, nibbling absentmindedly on a bit of candy.

His return from the Hospital Wing had been met with much congratulations and back-slaps. To his surprise, the entire Slytherin team had even special ordered a collection of Honeyduke's treats, immensely thankful for their win. It had bemused Harry to no end learning that Flint had ordered a large pack of miniaturized gummy arms, each 'arm' as boneless as his own had been. 

Draco flopped down beside his green-eyed friend, leaning on his hand despondently. "I really am sorry, Harry," he said contritely. "I begged father to get Lockhart sacked, but Dumbledore isn't budging. Merlin knows why."  

Blaise, tired of his library book, sighed and rolled over on the carpet. "Mother almost dated that idiot once, you know," he confided. "She met him at Celestina Warbeck's summer soiree and set her sights on him - or, his bank account, rather. But the moment he opened his mouth, she backpedaled almost immediately."

Theo looked up from his charms homework. "Really? Your mum's not known to be a quitter, Zabini," he smirked. "But I suppose you can't really blame her. Although, I do truly wish she'd gone through with the assassination." This earned him a jab in the side from Pansy, who frowned at his callous. 

Serena Zabini was well-known as the 'Black Widow' of Wizarding London, hopping from suitor to suitor upon their sudden, premature deaths, leaving all their life savings to her. Everyone  _knew_ she was the cause of her husbands' deaths, but there was no physical evidence supporting it. 

Blaise just shrugged dismissively. "No use wasting good poison."

"Exactly," Draco complained. "He's completely useless - but that doesn't explain why is Dumbledore so protective of him."  

There was a long pause. ". . .you don't think Lockhart is Dumbledore's male lover, do you?" Theo asked uncertainly, sitting up. Several people gagged in disgust. "No, hear me out; how else could Lockhart have gotten the job, if not through, let's say, fellatio."

Harry got up quickly from the couch, covering his ears. "I don't need to know this," he muttered furiously. "I really don't need to know this. Please, Draco, can we visit Ron and Hermione now?" the boy begged. 

His blonde friend laughed, grabbing Harry's hand. "As much as the idea both intrigues and disgusts me, Nott, there's only so much talk of _flagrante delicto_ one can take. See you later." The two fled from the common room, leaving Blaise and Theo to conspire between themselves. 

A few moments later, the two were climbing up the steps and onto the main level. "I mean, Harry, is it such a bad thing that Creevey's been petrified?" Draco chattered incessantly, twirling his wand in his fingers. "He was kind of a little creep."

Harry scowled. "That's like the pot calling the kettle black, Draco. When we first became friends, you were quite the limpet, yourself."

Faintly insulted, Draco huffed. "So you say. Anyways, what did he look like, again?" 

"Petrified," Harry shuddered. "Both figuratively and literally. He was frozen in terror, camera upraised as if about to take a picture. Dumbledore tried to check the film, but it had  _melted,_ Draco.  _Melted._ What kind of beast can do that?" Draco just lifted his shoulder in a helpless shrug. "And McGonagall said he was on his way up to see _me_. I feel horrible," a frown played on his pink lips.

Draco clasped his hand comfortingly, but pulled away as they came to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

 “It’s us," the Slytherin called out, closing the door behind him.

There was a clunk, a splash, and a gasp from within the stall and he saw Hermione's bushy head peeking out through the door. “Harry!” she squeaked. “Oh, you gave us such a fright! Come in, come in. How’s your arm?”

"Better than it was," Harry said bemusedly. "What on Earth are you all doing in here?" 

Draco led Harry into the stall, pushing him down next to the toilet. An old cauldron was perched on the rim, and the smell of smoke told Harry they had lit a fire beneath it. Conjuring up portable, waterproof fires was a specialty of Hermione’s.

“We’d have come to meet you," Ron apologized. "But Hermione got this idea - " 

"A crazy, brilliant idea. " Draco praised, causing the brunette to blush. 

" - to find the Heir of Slytherin." Ron finished. "And we’ve decided this is the safest place to the cauldron. Myrtle won't be snitching, will she?" The ginger leaned over to lift an eyebrow at the floating apparation, who was sitting next the the sink with a tight frown.  

While dubious of their methods, Harry began to tell them about Colin, only to be interrupted by Hermione's warm hand on his arm. 

“We already know, Harry," she said gently. "We overheard Professor McGonagall telling Professor Flitwick this morning. She sounded so terribly distraught, and I knew that waiting any longer would only cause more harm than hurt. That’s why we decided we’d better get going.” She pushed over a thin book, bound in a dirty leather and bookmarked with a strand of what looked like unicorn hair. 

Harry tipped his head. "A herediry potion? Is that like a DNA test?" 

Hermione smiled approvingly at him. "Close. Although Muggle DNA tests can really only find close blood relatives, a heredity potion can go all the way back to -  well, long enough to see who Slytherin's heir is, at least." 

Ron pinched his nose. "Don't ask her what DNA is, please," he begged of Draco. "I still have a headache." 

"How long will the potion take to brew?" Harry changed the subject, squinting down at the tome. "It seems rather complicated. Couldn't we just buy some?" 

Hermione sighed, separating a few bunches of red clovers. "It's not distributed on the market - well, legally, at least. I figured that a few months of hard work was nothing compared to the test they do at Gringotts, which is extremely expensive and incredibly painful for all those involved."

"Smart," he agreed. "Although won't some of these ingredients be difficult to find? Jellyfish tendrils, fin of a long-finned eel, burdock root, kohlrabi seeds - " hhe began listing, before shutting up at Draco's exasperated look.

The Gryffindor girl pulled the book over. "Incredibly difficult. To start with, we'll want to find the jellyfish tendrils within the next week or so, as they need to be added three days after the basil twigs and the Quahog shavings - which, of course, have to be collected during a red tide. Then comes the tortoise bile, which I know for a fact Professor Snape keeps in his storeroom, but I haven't a clue how to get it. Merlin, I haven't even _mentioned_ that the kohlrabi seeds have to be added exactly four minutes before the burdock root, which have to be stirred at three _bloody_ A.M in the morning - so yes. Very complicated." Hermione caught her breath, face red. 

The Slytherin stared, wide-eyed at his friend. "Alright. Well. Not to purposefully add more to your plate, but there’s something else," He watched a flustered Hermione tear the red clover leaves and soak them in a green acid before tossing the remains into the cauldron. “Dobby came to visit me last night, and it wasn't a social call.”

Draco looked up, astonished. "I thought he was done bothering you?"

Harry let out a long, tired breath. "I thought so too." Resting his head on his knees, Harry told them everything Dobby had said to him - or, really, hadn't said.

"So the Chamber of Secrets has been opened before?” Hermione worried her bottom lip.

"It must've been an awfully long time ago if Mum and Dad haven't said anything," Ron mused. "Wish Dobby had told you what kind of monster’s in there, though." 

"McGonagall mentioned an infestation of spiders, but Dumbledore quickly refuted her, saying something about Hagrid being innocent. Maybe he was a suspect the first time; you know how much he loves his dangerous beasts." 

Hermione hummed. "Could just ask the man, you know," she pointed out rationally, tossing a handful of basil twigs to Draco. "Crush those very finely, please." 

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance, thinking about their last few brushes with Hagrid's little 'pets'.

"First a Cerberus, then a dragon," Ron groaned. "Can't he just keep his pastimes to himself?" 

. . .

The news that Colin Creevey had been attacked and was now lying petrified in the hospital wing had spread like an infection; the air was suddenly thick with rumor and suspicion. The first years were now moving around the castle in tight-knit groups, as though scared they would be attacked if they ventured forth alone.

Ginny Weasley, who sat next to Colin Creevey in Charms, was incredibly distraught, but Harry felt that her older brothers were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. They only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. It was basically a black market, one that the Slytherins took full advantage of, hexing supposedly 'protective' under-armor to cause an embarrassing rash on the bodies of gullible buyers. 

Several hapless Hufflepuffs could be seen itching themselves relentlessly, bad enough that multiple trips to the hospital wing were necessary. Severus was so preoccupied with fulfilling the sudden demand for Skin-Soothing Cream, that he hardly even noticed his godson sneaking into his private ingredient storeroom and stealing away with a vial of tortoise bile and kohlrabi seeds. 

In the second week of December, Severus came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be staying at school for Christmas. The wizard informed his ward that he'd be staying over the vacation to grade papers, which seemed rather sad to Harry. "You're welcome to go to Spinner's End," Severus said with a grim smile. "But I doubt the heater is working, and you'd have no company." 

Harry signed his name with a flourish on the sign-up list, followed by Draco, whose parents were visiting relatives in France to sort out his grandfather's will. 

While chatting softly in the common room about the upcoming holiday, the two friends were approached by Millicent and Terrence. “They’re starting a Dueling Club! First meeting's tonight,” Millie said, a strange gleam in her eyes. "Flint just confirmed it." 

Terrence smirked, leaning forward. "Word is that there'll be a duel between Snape and Lockhart. I certainly hope so."

Harry clasped Draco's arm excitedly. "I can't believe he actually went through with it," he whispered to Draco, the blonde looking equally anticipatory. "Severus got permission from Madam Pomfrey to duel Lockhart and put him in the hospital wing - quite the revenge, isn't it? Public embarrassment _and_ a good hex to the skull." 

Draco laughed. "I don't care _how_ he does it, so long as Uncle Sev goes through with putting Lockhart away. About time, too. Lockhart's nothing but tactless, spotlight-mongering, intellectually inept, bollocks-for-brains swine."

"Oh, come now, Draco," Harry scolded, nudging his shoulder. "That's an insult to swine." 

. . .

 

At eight o’clock that evening, the second year Slytherins hurried back to the Great Hall.

The long dining tables had vanished, and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more, and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” Hermione had appeared behind them, latching onto Harry's arm. “Someone told me Flitwick was a dueling champion when he was young - maybe it’ll be him.”

Harry smirked. "It's not," he said ominously. 

Just then, Gilderoy Lockhart stepped onto the stage, looking utterly resplendent in robes of deep plum. Behind him stalked Severus, wearing an intense scowl and a set of flowing black robes, decorated with polished silver buttons and serpentine cuff-links. 

Lockhart pompously waved an arm and called for silence. 

“Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!" He cleared his throat. “Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions - for full details, see my published works. Now, let me introduce my assistant . . . _P_ _ro_ _fessor Snape!_ ” Lockhart exclaimed, flashing a wide smile.

“He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don’t want any of you youngsters to worry - you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him, never fear!”

Harry fought a laugh at Severus' expression. He wondered how Lockhart was still smiling; if looks could kill, he'd be completely and utterly terminated. Lockhart and Severus turned to face each other and bowed. Or, well, Lockhart did, whereas his opponent merely jerked his head irritably.

“As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position,” Lockhart told the silent crowd, raising his arm promptly.  “On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that,” Draco murmured, watching his Uncle bare his teeth.

“On the count of one, two, three - ”

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent. With a vindictive gleam, Severus twitched his wand.  _"Expelliarmus. Corporis wiggly."_

There was a dizzing flash of light and Lockhart made no move to defend himself. His wand fell away as he flew backward off the stage before collapsing to the ground with a terrified squeak. Over half of the room cheered uproariously.

"The jelly-limbs curse!" Draco breathed, choking on his laughter. "Holy shit, he actually did it!" 

“Do you think he’s all right?” Hermione squeaked through her fingers.

“Who cares?” Harry and Ron grinned together.

Severus swaggered across the stage, twirling his wand deftly. "How does that feel, Mister Lockhart?" he said in a soft voice, crouching down to raise Lockhart's limp arm between two pinched fingers. "To have no control over your extremities, to be entirely helpless on the ground while a crowd of wizards laugh at your foolishness. Not very pleasant, I'd expect."

He dropped the arm carelessly, letting it bounce off Lockhart's chin. "Now imagine spending a night in excruciating pain, growing back  _all the bones_ in your arm while the man who cursed you just  _laughs it off_  as a simple mistake." Lockhart gave out a pathetic keen. Lip curling, Severus reluctantly took off the curse.

Lockhart bit off a sigh of relief, eyes darting around to the smirking, whispering faces of his students.

Severus promptly dragged the man him up and pressed Lockhart's wand back into his hand.  "Let this serve as a lesson,  _Gilderoy,"_ Severus hissed into the man's ear. "Don't  _ever_ miss with one of my snakes - or else you'll get a _real_  taste of my 'tiny little' dueling skills."

The Potion's Master shoved the ponce forward. His wavy hair was standing on end, face flushed with embarrassment.

“W - well, there you have it!” he coughed, tottering back onto the platform. “That was the Disarming Charm followed by a - ah - very effective Jelly-Limbs Curse. Yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don’t mind my saying, it was - it was - very _obvious_ what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy; I simply felt it would be instructive - ”

Lockhart stopped himself from continuing, cheeks flushing at the crowd's soft laughter. “Enough demonstrating! I’m going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you’d  - nevermind. I'll do it."

Hermione, who was looking a bit reluctant, was against a smirking Millie. Ron went with the famous Gryffindor pyromaniac, while Draco was sadistically excited to curse his best friend. "Face your partners!” Lockhart called out a bit later. "Now . . . bow!”

Harry fell into a mocking, sweeping bow, his bangs falling over amazingly bright eyes. 

“Wands at the ready!” Lockhart shouted. Draco smiled genially, long arms stretching upwards as he aimed. 

“When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents - _only_ to disarm them. Ready? One, two, three - ”

Harry twitched his wand, but Draco had already started on “two”. His spell was colored a pale blue, and sent great chills up Harry's spine, his teeth chattering. "Arsehole," he muttered.  _“Rictusempra!”_ A jet of silver light hit Draco in the stomach and he doubled up with wheezing laughter.

“I said disarm only!” Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, and Draco sank to his knees.

Sympathetic, Harry removed the charm. "Thanks a -  a lot," Draco panted, before swiveling his arm. _"Tarantallegra!"_

Lockhart panicked. “Stop! Stop!” He ducked as a shot of greenish sparks flew past his ear. 

"Oh, for Merlin's sake - _Finite Incantatem!”_   Severus shouted.

All motion stopped, the groups of duelers taking in labored breaths. A haze of greenish smoke was hovering over the scene, and several students were incapacitated on the ground.  “Dear, dear,” said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. “Up you go, Macmillan. Careful there, Miss Fawcett. Pinch it hard, it’ll stop bleeding in a second, Boot - You know, I think I’d better teach you how to block unfriendly spells,” Lockhart declared, standing flustered in the midst of the hall.

He glanced at Severus, whose black eyes glinted. "You think so," Severus muttered sarcastically.

“I - yes. Let’s have a volunteer pair, Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you?”

“A bad idea, Mister Lockhart,” Severus sighed, gliding over reluctantly. Draco smirked, noticing how the man refused to use Lockhart's title. “Longbottom causes devastation with the simplest spells. We’ll be sending what’s left of Finch-Fletchley up to the hospital wing in a matchbox.”

Neville’s round, pink face went pinker. “How about . . . " he looked around, looking for trustworthy faces. "Potter and Malfoy? I don't suppose they can fail _too_ spectacularly." Harry shook his head wildly, while Draco smiled broadly, dragging his friend on stage. 

"Excellent idea,” Lockhart squeaked, sparing Severus a terrified look. “So . . . so, Harry, when Draco points his wand at you, you do this.” He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Harry arched an eyebrow as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, “Whoops - my wand is a little overexcited.”

Harry sent his guardian a pleading look. Severus shrugged apologetically. 

"Scared?" Draco whispered, smirking.

Harry scowled. "With this fool teaching us? Absolutely." 

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. “Just do what I did, Harry!”

“What?" Harry hissed angrily at him. "Drop my wand?”

Ignoring this, Lockhart held up a hand and counted down. "Three, two, one - go!"

 _"Steleus!"_ A white, bubbling hex hit Draco straight in the nose, causing him to sneeze loudly.

He lifted his wand to retaliate, coughing out a spell in a rather nasal voice.  _"Me - melofors!"_

Harry ducked lithely, and the jinx flew over him, hitting the wall with a  _splat._ Pumpkin entrails slid down the wall as Harry blocked another hex. 

 _"Flipendo!"_ Draco was flung backwards, just barely catching himself with a cushioning spell. 

 _"Porrum Herbesco!"_   Green bits of plant erupted over the crowd, having missed it's target.

"What the hell is it with you and food, Malfoy?" Harry laughed, erecting a shimmering shield. 

"Shut up, Potter," Draco scowled, sneezing once more.  _"Serpensortia!"_  he cried out, and the end of his wand exploded. The crowd watched, aghast, as a long black snake slipped onto the floor and lifted it's head curiously. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the floor.

Harry stood motionless, eyeing the swaying creature with a mixture of apprehension and sapience. 

"You idiot, Malfoy!" Severus growled, sweeping forward. "Don't move a muscle, Harry. I'll get rid of it." 

Lockhart jerked forward. “Allow me!” He brandished his wand at the snake, causing it to be vaulted ten feet into the air. While at first it had been merely inquisitive of it's surroundings, the serpent was now enraged. It slithered toward the nearest subject and raised again, fangs exposed, poised to strike. Fear washed through Harry. 

 _"Sssstop!"_ he commanded, reaching out a hand.  _"He issss not the enemy!"_

The serpent turned to Harry, surprised. It eyed the boy shrewdly, before lowering it's head submissively. Ignoring the startled looks around him, Harry inched forward slowly.  _"Are you okay?"_ He asked the creature, noticing a faint scratch on it's glistening scales. 

A pink tongue flickered.  _"I . . . "_ it began, curling in on itself.  _"I am sssscared. Where is my nessst?"_

It's voice was soft and sibilant. Harry was slightly surprised at his actions as he moved forward, allowing the creature to wind about his forearm.  _"Don't worry,"_ he soothed, allowing the course tongue to flick across his pale skin.  _"I have a friend who will bring you home - to your nessst,"_ he clarified. The snake nodded it's head tiredly, resting on the crook of his elbow.

The spell that had fallen over him had broken, and Harry glanced up to see a terror-struck horde of students.

 “What do you think you’re playing at?” a Hufflepuff stammered. "You're - you're a  _parselmouth!"_

Confused, Harry turned toward his Head of House. Severus stumbled forward, twitching his wand, and the snake vanished in a puff of black smoke. Harry felt a bit regretful - the serpent had been a comforting weight on his arm. He was dimly aware of an ominous muttering all around the walls, and he felt a tugging on the back of his robes.

“Let's go," Draco whispered, coaxing Harry out of the hall. Ron and Hermione followed, looking more than a bit shocked at the circumstances.

As they went through the doors, the people on either side drew away as though they were frightened of catching something. Hurt and rejection throttled through Harry's chest, tears springing in his eyes. _Why were they all looking at him like some sort of anathema?_

Draco pulled him into Myrtle's bathroom. The ghost took one look at Harry's pale expression and made herself scarce, a sympathetic croon passing her lips. Draco sat on a conjured bench and pulled Harry onto his lap. 

“Why didn't you tell us you're a parselmouth?!" Ron demanded, leaning against the wall. 

“A -  a what?” Harry asked softly, trembling. 

“A parselmouth!” Ron threw his hands up. “You can talk to snakes!”

"Yes," Harry's brow furrowed. "They speak to me all the time in the common room. Lots of serpents down there, carved into the walls and pillars."

Draco arched a brow. "Really? I heard that they're bewitched to hiss occasionally, but they can actually _talk?"_

The green-eyed boy nodded. "They're very talkative, but not quite as articulate as real snakes. You know, I once set a boa constrictor on my cousin Dudley at the zoo once - long story - but it was telling me it had never seen Brazil, and . . . somehow . . . the glass containing it vanished. That - " Harry swallowed. "That was before I knew I was a wizard. My relatives weren't very pleased.”

“A boa constrictor told you it had never seen Brazil?” Ron repeated faintly.

“So?” Harry said uncomfortably. “It's not that rare, is it?" 

Ron shook his head. “It’s not a very common gift. Harry, this is bad.” 

“Why is it bad?” Harry asked weakly, shaking slightly. Draco embraced him tighter. 

"It's bad because being able to talk to snakes was what Salazar Slytherin was famous for," Hermione said quietly. "That’s why the symbol of Slytherin House is a serpent.”

“Exactly,” Ron agreed. “And now the whole school’s going to think you’re his great-great-great-great-grandson or something . . . and it certainly doesn't help that you _are_ a Slytherin.”

“But - but I’m not Slytherin's heir.” Harry stammered, with a panic he couldn’t quite explain. "Am I?" 

“You’ll find that hard to prove,” Hermione tapped her lip.“He lived about a thousand years ago; for all we know, you could be. But . . . but if we want to make sure,” she glanced up at her group of friends, dread settling in her stomach. "It seems like we have our first contender for the heredity potion." 

* * *

**_To be continued . . ._ **


	9. Ophidian: Nine

**Ophidian**

_(adj. relating to or denoting snakes.) **  
**_

**A Harry Potter & Percy Jackson Crossover ** **  
**

**Part 5 of the _Amalgamation Series_**

by _Tannin & Tele_

* * *

_Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling and Rick Riordan, voiding that of original content and characters._

. . .

**_Warnings:_ ** _Chapter may include mentions of child abuse, child neglect, mild language and depictions of violence._

_The opinions expressed by characters may not reflect that of the author's._

**_A/N:_  ** _Many readers have been wondering about possible romantic relationships within this story._

_I know there is heavy implication that slash will occur, but not very many people recognize that the main characters are still quite young. I haven't really thought far enough ahead to consider any future romantic relationships, but for now, the Draco/Harry theme is merely a strong friendship between two affection-deprived kids. Draco is very possessive/protective of his first real friend while Harry is just happy to have friends at all._   
  
_Despite this, I hope that you all continue reading and responding as the story enfolds_

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

. . .

**November 18th, 1992**

_“Attack! Attack!_  There's been another attack! No mortal or ghost is safe!" Peeves the Poltergeist wailed, his tufts of transparent hair sticking straight up.

Harry breathed unevenly, stumbling back into the wall as he took in the sight of that Hufflepuff boy - Justin Finch-Fletchley -  lying rigid on the floor. Floating above him was Nearly Headless Nick, head tilted to the side. His body was no longer pearly-white, but instead tinted with a icy blue. 

 _Run!_ his inner voice exclaimed, sounding eerily like Draco.  _They can't prove it was you!_

It was too late, however. 

"Run for your lives!" Peeves threw his hands in the air, voice echoing down the abandoned corridor. The young Slytherin flinched as doors crashed open, a crowd of curious students and staff flooding into the halls. Harry stayed in the shadows, hunching his shoulders.

Professor McGonagall came gliding into the hall, using her wand to set off a loud  _bang!_   "Silence!" she called, face etched in a concerned scowl.

Peeves was bobbing overhead, now grinning wickedly and surveying the scene. As the teachers bent over Justin and Nearly Headless Nick, examining them, Peeves broke into song.  “Oh, Potter, you rotter,"  he whistled, moving to hover above the boy _._ "Oh, what have you done? You’re killing off students, you think it’s good fun - "  

Harry closed his eyes, already feeling the dozens of accusing glares. "Caught in the act!" One boy pushed him in the chest roughly, causing Harry to hit the wall. 

“That’s enough, Peeves, Macmillan!” Professor McGonagall barked. "Filius, Aurora, if you would?  _E_ _xpecto Patronum,"_ she whispered in the next second, and to everyone's awe, a silvery tabby cat leap out of her wand, prancing through the air to curl about Nearly Headless Nick's shoulders. "Tell the Headmaster and Severus that another student has been attacked, as well as a House ghost," McGonagall told the cat grimly, lowering her voice. "And we may have a potential witness in a certain, famous young Slytherin."

The tabby jerked it's head slightly, before bounding up the stairs, following Justin as he was carried off on a stretcher by Professors Flitwick and Sinistra. A prefect was given the duty of enchanting Nick up the stairs, and he was struggling greatly with it, too.

McGonagall quickly dismissed the other students, leaving herself with a trembling Harry.

"With me, Potter," the Transfiguration teacher sighed, taking him gently by the arm. Harry was biting his lip hard, keeping out frantic apologies and explanations. McGonagall strode swiftly around several corners before stopping in front of a large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle. The witch gritted her teeth and forced out the password, sarcasm practically dripping from her tone. “Lemon drop.”

The gargoyle sprang aside as the wall split, revealing a spiral staircase that disappeared into the ceiling. "This is as far as I shall go," McGonagall told him stiffly, folding her hands. "The headmaster ought to be waiting for you up there." She hesitated, as if wanting to say more, but turned on her heel and disappeared down the corridor. 

Full of dread for what was coming, Harry took a tentative step forward. He could still remember the last time he and the Headmaster had spoken one-on-one, when Harry had realized that, despite the man's grandfatherly persona, he had quite the Slytherin side.

The banister rose upward in circles until Harry saw a gleaming oak door ahead, equipped with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin. Softly, as if hoping his presence would go unnoticed, he knocked. With a long, eerie creak, the door opened, and Harry blinked at the sudden onslaught of color.

The Headmaster's office was a very large and haphazardly decorated room, filled with the sounds of odd ticks and chimes. A great number of magical instruments whirred on the long shelves, occasionally emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were resting in their frames. Harry jolted violently as a sudden, pain-filled croak came from behind him.

He twirled around and gaped.

Standing on a golden perch behind the door was a decrepit-looking bird, his feathers the color of mottled autumn leaves. The creature stared balefully at Harry, clicking it's beak weakly. After a few moments of staring, Harry reached toward it hesitantly, noticing how it's dull eyes looked ahead with a mournful gleam. 

The feathers, despite their ugly appearance, were actually quite soft. Just where Harry had touched it, the bird molted, and the boy winced slightly. He really  _did_ hurt everything he touched. At that very thought, the bird burst into orange flames, a wave of heat cascading over Harry's cheeks. 

He squeaked in surprise as the bird was eviscerated before his eyes.  

It was a very surreal experience, and the boy nearly jumped a foot in the air as the office door opened. Dumbledore swept in, looking very somber in his dark purple robes and wilting hat. “Headmaster,” Harry gasped. “Your bird - please tell me that was a Phoenix, and I didn't just kill your pet.”

Dumbledore smiled, eyes bursting into sudden twinkle. "Very astute, young Harry!" the man chuckled. "Yes, Fawkes is, in fact, a Phoenix. He’s been looking dreadful for a week now - it's about time that he had a Burning Day! There, my boy, watch.”

Harry looked into the tray of ash to see a tiny, wrinkled bird peer out at him, squeaking happily.

“It’s a shame you had to see him on a Burning Day,” Dumbledore said, seating himself behind his desk. “He’s really very handsome most of the time, wonderful red and gold plumage. Fascinating creatures, Phoenixes. They can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly faithful pets.” 

As small finger reached out to stroke the baby-soft skin, Fawke's large, dark eyes crossed slightly. Harry almost smiled, until he remembered why he was in the Headmaster's office in the first place. He sat carefully across from the Headmaster, who had fixed Harry with his penetrating, ice-blue stare.

Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, a sharp knock came at the door. Dumbledore flicked his hand, and Severus appeared in the doorway, looking highly agitated. “Don't say a word, Harry," the man urged, sweeping forward. "I will not tolerate you to interrogate my student, Headmaster." 

The older man merely smiled benignly, gesturing towards a spare chair. "We are in agreement, then, Severus," his eyes crinkled. "Be at peace, my boys. I do not think that Harry attacked those people." Severus sat reluctantly, while Harry let a breath of relief slip past his lips. 

Dumbledore smiled at their reactions, although it did not reach his eyes. "However, despite knowing of your innocence, I still wish to speak with you." Harry fidgeted slightly while Dumbledore considered him, the tips of his long fingers pressing together.  “I must ask you, Harry, whether there is anything you’d like to tell me,” he said gently. “Anything at all." 

Severus made a reproachful noise in his throat.

"I'm sure that if Harry has any concerns, he'd have already gone to his Head of House.  _Me,_ if you weren't aware," he said a bit snidely.

Harry felt a spike of guilt, remembering the bubbling heredity potion, the stolen ingredients and the disembodied voice he'd heard several times while within the corridors. 

"As he should," Dumbledore inclined his head respectfully. "But perhaps something had slipped his mind, or he saw something at the 'scene of the crime' worth noting. Anything helps, my boy." Harry winced. Only Vernon called him 'boy'. 

His continued silence earned him concerned glances from both men, and Harry forced a tight smile.

“No, sir,” he said, convincing enough for even Severus to relax minutely. “There isn’t anything, Professor.”

* * *

**Late December, 1992**

At last the term ended, and a silence deep as the snow on the grounds descended on the castle. Harry found it peaceful, rather than gloomy, and enjoyed the fact he wasn't alone for Christmas, like years past.  The Weasleys had chosen to stay at school rather than visit Bill in Egypt with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley; Percy, who highly disapproved of Ron and Harry's friendship, didn’t spend much time among his siblings. 

Ron, feeling a bit rebellious, sent a letter to his mother requesting she make both Harry  _and_ Draco one of her special Weasley sweaters; the dungeons, as you know, are very cold during this time of the year. Finding his actions very admirable, Molly spent a long night knitting a pair of green and silver jumpers and baking a very large tray of fudge.

"What a jolly holiday this is going to be," Ron said wryly one evening, twirling his wand between chocolate-stained fingers. "Just you Slytherins and us. Think you can get Crabbe and Goyle to save some Christmas treats for me, eh?"

Harry snorted. "Like you haven't just spent an evening devouring all your mother's fudge. I don't think your body can handle much more sugar, Ron." 

Tilting his head, the ginger arched an eyebrow and pushed the tray forward. "If you wanted some chocolate, all you had to do was ask."

The Slytherin smiled genially, stabbing a fork into the sweet. "Cheers, Ron."  

Ron licked the goo from his fingers. "I've an idea," he cleared his throat. "Perhaps Crabbe and Goyle are Slytherin's heir?" 

Harry hummed lightly. "Don't ask me - Draco's their keeper."

Draco sneered, looking up from the recipe. "They're as dumb as a sack of rocks; in no way, shape or form are they cunning enough to do something so dastardly." 

"Be nice, Draco." Harry chided. "But, loath as I am to say it, you're right."

The blonde flicked a dismissive hand. "Don't act so surprised." 

"Anyways," Harry pressed on. "Vincent and Greg were very helpful escorting me through the halls this morning, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't mock them behind their backs." 

Finally relenting to the sweet smell of chocolate, the blonde irritably pushed up his sleeves. He cut himself a piece, grumbling darkly.

"You shouldn't need to be escorted in the first place," Draco pointed out. Harry sighed, but conceded without resistance.

It certainly wasn't preferable having terrified students skirt around him in the corridors, as though he were about to sprout fangs or spit poison. Ernie MacMillan, for one, seemed to make it his personal vendetta to spout vitriol at Harry as they passed in the halls, sending jinxes and holding out his leg in an attempt to trip the Slytherin up.

Draco was practically spitting poison, himself, anytime Ernie had even glanced wrongly towards his small friend; it was rather strange to see the often-composed Malfoy heir loose his cool. While Draco was fierce in his overbearing protectiveness, Ron and Hermione on the other hand, were somber, silent companions through the days.

Despite their united front, all four of them were very glad when the Yule-tide holidays arrived. 

Christmas eve dawned, cold and white. The walls in the dungeons were nearly frosted over, the glass windows that looked out into the Black Lake crystallized in intricate patterns. A few hours before curfew, Harry and Draco had been generously invited into Severus' warm chambers, where - if you knew what to look for - you could find a fair amount of Christmas decorations. The air smelt of spruce and ginger, and faint threads of silvery tinsel could be spotted lining the door frame.

When Harry pointed this out, Severus looked highly disgruntled. "It was that damn house elf," he muttered behind a glass of eggnog. "I woke to hear that little urchin humming  _Jingle Bells_  beneath his breath and bewitching my furniture red and green. I scared him off, naturally, although I could only manage to disenchant the worst of the decor. Dobby even set up a _tree_ \- it was nearly ten feet tall before I burned it; ornaments, cranberry garlands, fairy lights and all." The man smiled grimly. "At least I won't need to go shopping for crystallized fairy wings anymore." 

Draco looked horrified. "You  _killed_ the Christmas tree fairies? How could you? They're  _tradition!_ "

"They taste delicious mixed with eggnog," Severus said innocently. "A bit sugary."

His godson gagged, and pushed away his cup, while Harry gave out soft peals of laughter. 

"Oh! I nearly forgot," the green-eyed Slytherin exclaimed, hopping up to grab his bag. "This is for you, Severus," he said shyly, handing forth a deftly wrapped package.

The Potion's Master arched a brow, surprise playing on his features. "Thank you, Harry," he said sincerely, holding it lightly. "I have something for you, too - but you'll get it tomorrow, I suspect. Yes, you too, Draco," Severus rolled his eyes. 

"Don't open it until tomorrow," Harry warned, pulling Draco up. "Merry Christmas, Severus." 

Severus touched Harry's head, a soft look to his eyes. "Merry Christmas, my boys," he schooled his expression, putting on a false scowl. "Now, get moving - Saint Nick won't come for naughty boys who run about the corridors after curfew!" 

* * *

 

**December 25th, 1992**

Christmas morning, Harry woke with Draco bouncing on his mattress. He blearily opened his eyes, seeing his fellow Slytherin looking uncharacteristically hyper. "Merry Christmas, sleeping beauty," Draco greeted, voice chipper. "It's about time you got up. We've got presents!"

"How much coffee have you  had?" Harry asked bluntly, letting the first-year pull him off the bed and into the common room. Last year, all his gifts had been organized in a pile at the end of his bed, but Draco had insisted on having a real Christmas tree to replace the one Severus had rid of. 

"A  _lot,_ thank you for asking," Draco said happily, ignoring the sarcasm. Crabbe and Goyle were collapsed on the couch, watching the fairy lights zip about the heavily decorated Christmas tree. Both were nursing strong cups of tea.

"Morning," Harry greeted the two lumps, who merely grunted in greeting. The boy smiled affectionately. "Right, then."

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, accepting a mug of tea from a small house-elf that appeared out of nowhere.

Draco went first, compiling a list of each gift-giver for future thank-you notes. The boy would inspect each gift for a brief moment, either grinning cheerfully or tilting up his nose, before separating the 'useful gifts' from the ' _who-do-they-think-they-are?_  gifts'.

Harry became very nervous when Draco came across the framed, moving picture of Norberta Harry had needled Charlie Weasley into sending over.

The green-eyed boy was pleasantly surprised when the blonde nearly tackled him with a hug, resisting a flinch at the last moment. "It's great, Harry!" Draco beamed. "I can't believe how big she's gotten!" Norberta snorted restlessly in the frame, curling around a tree that was nearly half her size.

Crabbe and Goyle didn't seem particularly enthused over most their gifts, although their interest did pike when Harry handed them each a package of (Muggle) gobstoppers. 

Harry went last, and was amused to see gifts from most of the Slytherin Quidditch team. It was mostly just boxes of candy or books, but the sentiment was appreciated. Draco had given him a long, dark green cloak with silver fastenings - mockingly said to "bring out his eyes". Hermione gave Harry a jar of everlasting water-lilies, floating in crystal clear water. Ron gave him a book on Quidditch, primarily so he could _'come to appreciate the Chudley Cannons'_. 

The best present of all was the slim photo-book, meticulously filled with pictures of a lanky, pale boy and a brilliantly copper-haired girl. 

 _'Our Lily flower,'_ was inscribed on the cover, written in an easy-to-read italic.  _'May she always be with us.'_

_. . .  
_

Draco and Harry sprinted up to Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, which had officially become the meeting place of the four second-year students. 

They pushed open the door, and could hardly see for the thick steam issuing from the stall where Hermione was stirring the cauldron. Pulling their robes up over their faces, Draco knocked on the door. “Hermione?”  They heard the scrape of the lock and Hermione emerged, shiny-faced and looking anxious.

Behind her they heard a soft sizzling of the potion, which smelt approximately like a rusted carburetor. 

"Oh, hello boys," she said breezily, ushering them in. "I've finally added the tortoise bile, which is absolutely disgusting, by the way!" 

Draco nodded pensively. "I thought so when I stole it." 

"So we're done?" Harry asked anxiously, moving to peer over the cauldron. The air above it was oddly cold, despite the burning fire beneath it.

"Very nearly," Hermione clapped her hand. "Now, who were our list of suspects, again?"

Ron was sitting quietly on the ground, chewing on a Sugar Quill. "Well, Harry, for one, but I was also thinking - "

"A dangerous pursuit," Draco said seriously, earning a scowl. 

"And a Merry bloody Christmas to you, too, you blonde ponce," Ron snarled, wiping the sugar off his hands. "As I was saying, maybe  _Lockhart_  is the heir. All this shite only began when he starting working here," he said reasonably. 

Hermione frowned. "Thinking like that, Ron, you might as well add the entire first-year class to the roster!"

"No, no - " Draco flapped a hand at the muggle-born. Hermione looked insulted. "The Weasel might be onto something."

Ron beamed with pride. "See,  _thank_ you, Malfoy." 

"I suppose it  _is_ awfully suspicious how he managed to get a job here with absolutely zero qualifications," Hermione said hesitantly. Draco nodded enthusiastically. 

"Don't get him started!" Harry warned Hermione. "He's got a bit of vendetta against Lockhart now. Got a vendetta against half the school, now that I think about it." 

Draco huffed, and poked Harry in the arm. "Out of the two of us,  _you_ should be the one with the grudge - no one would blame you for it! But since you're too  _principled_ for such things, it seems I'll have to do it for you. It's a full-time job, you know - " 

"Oh, oh, shut up!" Hermione perked up, lunging forward as the cauldron began shuddering.

The gloop within, which briefly held a strangely orange tint, was now the color of red wine. Although, with tortoise bile, eel fins and jellyfish tendrils, it probably didn't taste as good.  "It's ready," the Gryffindor breathed out, a bright gleam to her brown eyes. "We can put the DNA in now."

All gazes swiveled to Harry, who hunched his shoulders uncomfortably.

Hermione noticed his unease and paused in her ladling of the potion, biting her lip. "I can place a preservation charm on it," she offered, tapping the ladle against the rim. "We could test out some other DNA before we do yours. Save the best for last, you know?" 

Harry looked at her with unmitigated gratefulness. "Thanks, 'Mione," he said softly. "How about I go and see what Lockhart is up to?" 

. . . 

It wasn't difficult, finding Lockhart in his office, surround by piles and piles of gifts. The man was cheerfully signing thank-you notes, and was very loquacious with his visitor. From the smell of his breath, Harry could easily deduce that his cup of eggnog had been spiked with something a bit more rousing. 

Lockhart had dragged Harry around the desk, handing to him a handful of signed autographs - "Gifts, for all of your little friends!" he slurred. 

Harry acted very thankful, of course. "This is - very gracious of you, Professor," he said tightly. "I was going to bring you a gift, but I had trouble finding something for the man who has everything. I was wondering, instead, of there was anything I could do for you?"

The man had beamed at Harry, and went searching through his drawers. He pulled out a slim book, covered with a dark leather and inscribed with his name in large, looping letters. "I am going to tell you a secret, and you mustn't tell a soul," the man said in what he thought was a low voice. " _Especially_  not your Head of House - he, well, Severus isn't as big a fan of me as you are. Merlin knows why." 

Harry widened his eyes and nodded innocently. "Of course, Professor." 

Lockhart smiled sloppily, before leaning forward conspiratorially. "As you know, Harry," he whispered. "I recently published a wonderful little autobiography titled  _'Magical Me'._ You've read it, I believe?" Lockhart paused, before flapping his hand dismissively. "Of course you have. Anyways, after my expenditure at Hogwarts, my publisher thinks it would be a grand idea to novelize my experience here. A reference, you can say, for aspiring teachers."

Harry resisted an eye-roll.  _After reading Lockhart's book, no one would_ want  _to become a teacher here!_

"Now, my publisher thinks that I ought to include some quotes from the students, to really . . .  _immerse_ our readers in the experience. Do you think you could go around for me and, covertly, question your peers on their opinion of me?" he looked hopefully up at Harry, lip protruding slightly. A bit of eggnog was smudged on the corner of his mouth, and Harry thought he could see a smattering of pimples concealed beneath his nostrils. 

Harry smiled, crossing his hands. "What a wonderful idea, Professor." 

Lockhart clapped Harry on the back. "Brilliant! Wondrous! Stupendous! Oh, and this is for you, my boy, for writing notes," he said, suddenly serious, pressing the book into Harry's hands. "I'm sure I have a Quick-Quotes Quill around here somewhere . . . " As Lockhart turned to check his drawers, Harry reached forward and deftly plucked a strand of hair from his head, grimacing at the inane amount of hair product. 

Harry twined the hairlet briefly between his fingertips before sliding it into a glass vial.  _Easy,_ he thought proudly, before glancing down at the book in his hands.  _Oh, wait - d_ _amn it._ _More bloody homework?_

_. . ._

About ten minutes later, the Slytherin wandered the halls, alone, one hand ensconced deep within his robe pocket while the other clutched at Lockhart's book.

How could Ron and Draco  _possibly_ believe that idiot was the heir of Slytherin?

Although, if it wasn't Lockhart, who else could it be? 

His heart was thumping madly in anticipation as he clutched at the slim vial of blonde hair. What if Harry  _was_ Slytherin's heir? Could he possibly be related to a man who - supposedly, although not according to Draco's standards  - despised all Muggle-borns? His mother was a Muggle-born, for god _(s)'_ sake. 

Being in Slytherin house himself, Harry wasn't unaware of the bigotry that spread around the house like wildfire. Most of the upper years barely spared Harry a second glance, turning their nose up at him because of his half-blood status. While the rejection hurt, Harry knew that not all Slytherins were inherently evil, like a great portion of Gryffindor house seemed to believe. But despising Muggle-borns, simply for  _existing?_ Going so far with that hatred as to try and eradicate them from existence?

That was inexcusable. And it wasn't something Harry, in his right mind, would ever attempt to do. 

Right? 

Emotions broiling beneath his skin, Harry almost didn't notice as he ran directly into a small first-year, causing both of them to fall to the ground. The strange let out a surprised gasp, and Harry scrambled to his feet. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" Harry stammered out, reaching out a hand to help the girl up.

The girl squeaked upon meeting his bright green gaze, eyes fluttering to his slightly-visible red-rimmed scar. Harry quickly recognized her flustered face as that of Ron's younger sister - the inarticulate one.

Harry tipped his head concernedly at the girl. Ginny wasn't looking very well, her freckles contrasting greatly with her deathly pale skin. Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and ink was stained all across her front. The Slytherin looked down, noticing a set of fallen quills, an ink puddle, and two nearly-identical upturned books resting at their feet. Before Harry could say anything more, she snatched one of the books off the floor and dashed off without apology. 

Harry frowned at her back, noticing as she clumsily skid into the next hallway. 

Shaking his head, he bent down, avoiding the ink spill, and took hold of the Quick-Quotes Quill. As his fingers brushed against the book spine, he felt a strange jolt go through him. Harry jerked slightly, but shook it off, snapping the diary closed.

On the cover, read in bold letters were the words  _Property of Tom Marvolo Riddle._ Brows furrowing, Harry flipped through the diary, noticing it was full of blank pages.   _A concealment charm, perhaps?_ he wondered, setting off towards Myrtle's bathroom.

Opening the door, he put the journal in his pocket and proceeded to forget all about it. It didn't really matter, anyways. 

What Ginny Weasley wrote in her diary was none of his business. 

* * *

**_To be continued . . ._ **

 

 

 


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